Initial Endeavors
by leyapearl
Summary: New college graduate Frank Hardy is asked by FBI Agent Kara Malone to work with her on a case involving a fake ID ring. As usual with the Hardy brothers, things are more complicated then they seem... Encrypted series.
1. Dinner

"Wow. Kara, that was fabulous." Frank pushed back from the table, one hand resting on his stomach. "I don't think I'm going to need to eat again for at least a week."

"Thanks. I'm glad you liked it." Kara stood and started gathering plates and silverware, stacking them up in front of her. "Joe said it was one of your favorites." She threw a knowing look at Frank. "I'd offer to send you home with some of the leftovers, but..."

Frank chuckled. "No need to explain. I lived with him longer than you have so far." He looked over at his brother, waiting for the expected outburst. None came. He eyed his brother curiously, but Joe simply sat in his chair, doodling on the table with his index finger.

"Let me help you with that," Anna said, pushing back her chair and starting to rise.

Kara put a hand out to stop her. "No need," she said, her brown eyes dancing, "I'm not dealing with them." She sat back down in her chair, and leaned her head against Joe's shoulder, a wide grin on her face. "Am I, dear?"

Joe grunted, looked down at her, and sighed. "Good thing I love you," he said, his voice flat. He turned an accusatory glare at his brother. "Do you have any idea how many pots and pans were needed to make this?" He waved a hand at the table.

Frank laughed. "Probably the same number I used the last time I made it." He raised an eyebrow. "Why so grumpy? It's not like we sat here and ate it in front of you."

"Thanksgiving." Joe huffed, but there was a glint in his eyes that let Frank know some of the attitude was posturing. Some. "I probably should have behaved better, but I really didn't think I'd be washing this many dishes. I mean, look at my hands," he held them up for inspection. "My knuckles are all dry and crackly."

"Hand lotion," Kara said, "and a growing appreciation of the fact that I usually do the cleaning up after dinner. Both things build character."

Joe turned to look at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "How does hand lotion build character?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It just does."

He rolled his eyes, picked up the stack of dishes, and crossed to the sink, squeezing a liberal amount of soap into the water now flowing from the faucet.

Anna followed him with her eyes, one hand twisting a curl through her fingers. "Joe, if you hate washing dishes so much, why didn't you find an apartment with a dishwasher? That's got to pretty easy these days."

A faint flush spread over Joe's cheeks, and he mumbled something at the growing pile of suds in the sink.

Frank walked over and leaned against the counter. "Didn't catch that, little brother. What did you say?"

Joe let out a breath and turned the water off. Once hand still on the faucet, he said, "I didn't think of it." At their astonished faces, he shrugged. "What can I say? I ate out a lot." He considered for a moment, a crease forming on his brow. "And usually ate the leftovers right out of the containers."

Kara shuddered, and Joe turned a pleading look at his brother. "Come on, 'bro, I've been doing dishes all afternoon. Take pity on me. I wash, you dry? It'll be just like when we were kids."

"When we were kids, I had to rewash everything you didn't clean properly." Frank gave him a long look. "Fine." He held up a hand to cut off Joe's shout of triumph. "Only because I want to keep Kara from having to re-do them later." He walked over to the other side of the sink, and grabbed the towel hanging over the dishrack.

They worked in silence for a few seconds, then Kara spoke up from the table. "I don't know about you," she said, giving Anna a sidelong glance, "but I could get used to this. It's a really nice view." She paused. "Maybe we could start a business. Hot guys doing housework. I bet we'd make millions."

Anna laughed, twisting her long, dark hair into a knot. "We'd have to get them in muscle tees and running shorts with aprons around their waists."

Kara smiled back at her. "Now there's a great mental image."

Joe frowned and poked his brother with his elbow. "I think we're being objectified," he said.

Frank glanced back at the animated conversation going on at the table, then picked up a pile of forks. "If you mean 'we' as in men, then yes. If you mean 'we' as in the two of us..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"... pushing a vaccum cleaner," Anna was saying. "If we have that as the splash picture on the website, I'm sure that will attract attention."

"Definitely," Kara agreed, then frowned slightly. "I don't think I've ever seen Joe vacuum. I seem to be the one who does that chore."

"I clean the bathroom," Joe said over his shoulder. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"No," Kara said, her eyes unfocused, "you're the one who messes it up."

"I vaccum," Frank said, opening a drawer and putting away the silverware.

"I know," Anna said, an arch look on face. "That's what gave me the idea."

"He does a good job, too." Kara paused. "Man, I haven't thought about that in a long time. I mean, the last time I saw Frank doing housework was..." She went still, her eyes first growing unfocused, then snapping up. "... Moscow."

Frank's head swerved, his eyes locking on to hers. A sudden tension filled the room. "That was a long time ago."

Anna's voice broke into the silence. "What was in Moscow?"

"You two went to Russia, and neither of you ever thought to mention it to me?" Annoyance filled Joe's voice. "When was this?"

Slowly, Frank's gaze shifted from Kara to Joe. "Not Russia. Moscow, Idaho." He turned to look at Anna, his face a careful blank. "Our first case together. Mine and Kara's."

"Oh, that. Here. Take this." Joe pushed a dripping plate at his brother. "I never got the whole story behind that. What happened?"

Kara turned away from Frank's eyes to look at Joe. "Officially? We shut down a fake document operation."

"And unofficially?" Anna leaned forward in her chair, her long hair brushing the top of the table.

Frank finished wiping the plate and put it down on the counter, folding the dishtowel on top of it. "Unofficially?" He cleared his throat. "Well, unofficially, we shut down a homegrown terrorist cell."

Author's Note: I have the first three chapters of this completed and will try to post them one a week. As my son has gotten older, my writing time has gotten more scarce, so after those chapters updates will be slow. I have the plot mapped out but finding the time to work on it may be difficult. I can promise, though, that I will not abandon the story, and, as is my usual practice, I will respond to all reviewers who have PM enabled in their profiles.

I hope you enjoy! - Leya


	2. Recruitment

Thanks to Caranath, Zenfrodo, bhar, max2013, ukfan101, hlahabibty, SnowPrincess88, and Xenitha for their lovely words, and thanks to all who read chapter 1 without leaving a review. (If you do, I respond to everyone.) As promised, here's chapter two. Enjoy!

* * *

Rookie FBI agent Kara Malone took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the glass of conference room door. She still wasn't used to the shorter haircut, even if Lynne felt it made her look older.

"Face it, Kar," her older sister had said when Kara had been home on leave, "with your hair halfway down your back, you look about twelve. You're short and cute, and all anyone is going to want to do is lean down and pinch your cheeks. Even with the gun, bad guys just aren't going to take you seriously."

"I've been wearing it up." Kara pulled her hair into a pony tail and twisted it into bun on the back of her head and leaned against the headboard of her sister's bed. "Like this. I can just keep doing that."

Lynne frowned, her green eyes narrowing. "No. With the dark suit and the bun, you'll look like a kid trying be a stereotype. All you need are glasses perched on the end of your nose and a finger at your lips. Shhh." She reached behind her sister's head and unwound the twist of hair, folding it to different lengths. "There. Just below your shoulders. You can still put it up when you run, but it will look more professional when it's down." She laughed. "Might even make you look fifteen. Sixteen if you're lucky." She had laughed then ducked as Kara launched a pillow at her head.

Looking at her image now, Kara had to admit Lynne had been right, she did look more like she belonged in the office and not in a park, waiting for her turn on the swings. "Here goes," she muttered. She grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Once in the conference room, she found an empty seat at the foot of the table, where she would have a good view of the rest of the participants, and frowned slightly as she realized was the youngest in the room. Again. She pulled out her notes and scanned them, double- and triple-checking the details she already had memorized and waiting for the other rookie to get here.

The door opened again, this time admitting an agent who appeared to be about fifty, with gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and the requisite dark-colored suit. He nodded to all of them, and Kara returned the gesture along with everyone else. This was Special Agent Arthur Vickers, the agent who had come in from the Washington bureau to take charge of this mission. She craned her neck to see if anyone else was behind him. The door swung closed without anyone else entering.

"Thank you all for coming," Vickers said, the door swinging shut behind him, "but I'm afraid this is going to be a very short meeting." He huffed out a breath. "We need to push back the operation. The timeline is now unspecified."

"We have to _postpone_ the mission?" The words were out of Kara's mouth before she could stop them.

Silence blanketed the room, the older agents sitting around the table shocked by their junior colleague's outburst.

Vickers laid both hands on the table, palms down, and turned his gaze toward the speaker. "Agent Malone, right? Yes. We have to postpone the mission." He lifted a hand to curtail the protest he assumed was coming, then cleared his throat, making sure he had everyone's attention. "We got a call from the Denver office this morning. Carl DeMillo was injured yesterday." One of the other agents gasped. "He was hit by a car while out grocery shopping. His right leg was broken in two places. It's being investigated, but all indications are that it was an unfortunate accident; the brakes on the other vehicle failed." Vickers let out a breath. "And since the only available people with his specific skill set who look the right age are still in Quantico right now, we've hit a wall. I refuse to send in a newbie who hasn't finished his training."

"So what are we going to do in the meantime?" A stocky agent in his late thirties asked, his voice sounding exasperated. "We've put in a lot of surveillance time on this case. I'd hate to see it fall apart."

"None of us want that, Mel," Vickers said with a sigh. "But until we can find a computer geek with detective experience..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"What if we brought in a contractor?" All eyes turned to the bottom of the table. Kara could feel her face warming and wanted to shift in her seat but forced herself to remain still, knowing the more senior agents at the table would take the motion as a sign of uncertainty, of weakness.

"A civilian?" Vickers stood, surprise etched in the lines around his eyes. "Agent Malone, I know you're anxious for your first mission, but we can't risk it. You know how dangerous this could be."

Kara Malone's brown eyes met the Vickers' grey ones. "I do." She swallowed. "And I think I know just the man for the job."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Whoa. There's still stuff in here!" Frank watched as his younger brother Joe craned his neck around the room. "I would've figured you'd be done with this last week or something." A grin formed on Joe's face, amusement evident in his blue eyes as he shook his head in mock-disappointment. "You're slipping, Frank."

Frank looked around the half-empty room that had been his home for the past four years. With the posters and pictures taken down and the pile of neatly stacked, but still mostly empty, boxes on Roger's side of the room – _Do__n'__t __think about that_, he told himself – it looked more like a storage closet than a dorm room. The only indications that someone lived there were the sheets on the long, narrow bed, the towel folded over the bed frame, and the plastic cup on the desk holding a razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste. _And my clothes in the closet, and the books on the bookshelf. __Why didn't I finish packing this morning?_ He ran a hand through the hair falling into his eyes and stifled a yawn.

"Frank?" His mother's voice startled him, forcing him to focus on the fact his parents and brother were staring at him, waiting for a response. "Your brother needs to get back to school. If you're tired, we can skip dinner, and I can wait while you finish packing and drive home with you." She tilted her head to one side, examining him with narrowed eyes. "Or, rather, drive you home. You look exhausted."

Joe cocked his head to one side, mirroring his mother's movement, his left foot tapping out a furious pattern on the cracking linoleum tiles. "Make up your mind, 'bro. As much as I want food, I've got finals tomorrow and Tuesday, and I could use some last minute cramming."

"Joseph, give your brother a minute," their father said. "It's not every day he graduates from college." Fenton gave his older son a fond smile, then his voice took on a teasing note. "Just don't take too long, son. We wouldn't want Joe to miss his study time." His gaze turned toward his younger son, one eyebrow raised. "It will take him longer to get back to school with all those snack breaks he needs."

"Hey!" Joe spread his hands out in front of him. "It's not my fault I have an efficient metabolism."

Laura shook her head. "Efficient isn't the word, I would use, dear. Over-enthusiastic comes much closer."

Frank started to laugh, choking slightly as the yawn escaped. He blinked a few times and looked at his family with bleary eyes. "Maybe we could do the celebration after Joe's semester is over I think," he swallowed down another yawn, "I'll crash here tonight and finish packing tomorrow. I can get up early, load up the car, and be home before lunch."

"Are you sure, dear?" Laura's blue eyes showed a glimmer of worry. "I don't mind helping you pack and doing the driving."

"I'm sure." Frank could feel his shoulders slump. "Mostly, I don't want to have to unpack the car to find my pajamas when we get home. I'm wiped out."

"That's what you get for being an over-achiever, 'bro. If you'd stuck with just one major..." The sentence cut off as Joe lurched to the side to avoid Frank's open hand aiming for the top of his head. "You missed..." Surprise was evident in his voice. "You _must_ be tired."

"That's what I've been telling you." Frank looked at them all. "Dad, you and Mom should go home, and Mr. Metabolism can head back to school. I'll get a good night's sleep and come home tomorrow."

A few minutes later, the room was quiet again. Frank leaned against his desk, sighed, and pulled a battered copy of _Mansfield Park_ from the book shelf. _Most pathetic college graduate ever, _he thought as he stretched out on the bed and opened the book.

Several hours later, his cell phone rang, Joe's voice crackling through the receiver. "You're reading, aren't you?"

"Tell me you're back at NYU and not talking on your phone while driving."

"Worrywart."

"Joe!"

"Hey, calm down. Traffic was light. I'm at my desk. Books are open and everything." There was a pause. "I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a massive amount of work. I couldn't have done what you did and stayed sane."

Frank rubbed his eyes. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

"It was. Just don't let it go to your head." Joe snorted. "I still think you're a freak."

"Thanks." Frank's voice was dry. "And, uh, just so you know? I didn't miss this afternoon."

"Huh?"

"The dope slap. I didn't miss. I was being nice and not scrambling your brains while you still had two finals to go. Now go study." Frank clicked the end call button, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning Frank rose early and slowly packed up the rest of his belongings, feeling strangely reluctant to finish. Although he knew graduating meant he and Joe were one step closer to opening their own agency, he felt as if he were in a holding pattern. Studying for his degrees had been challenging and had given him a goal to meet; now he had to wait a year for Joe to finish school, and while he knew he would be working with his father during that time, it almost felt like taking a step backwards when what he really wanted to do was run forward as fast as he could into the unknown. He sighed. _It'll be good experience_, he told himself. _There's still a lot more I can learn from Dad._

Finally, he loaded everything in the car but one last box. He picked it up and gave the room a cursory glance, making sure he hadn't missed anything. He hadn't. Dust on the bookshelf outlined where his books had been for the last few years, and white, cement block walls stared back him, institutional and empty. He let out a long breath. "Time to go," he muttered.

The knock on the open door startled him enough that the box slipped from his grip and landed on the floor with a loud thud. As he bent over to pick it up, his heart pounding, he heard a throat being cleared.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Hardy. Have you got a moment?"

Frank froze, cursing inwardly that he had allowed someone to get that close to him without his being aware of it. The voice was familiar. Female, young, a trace of a Boston accent... Turning slowly as he rose, an unmistakable sense of déjà vu stole over him. Same suit, same stance, shorter hair, now pulled back in a pony tail instead of twisted into bun on the back of her head. He stopped himself from letting out a sigh.

"Agent Malone. What can I do for you?"

Outwardly she looked exactly the same as she had when she had knocked on his door in January, but something seemed different about her. _Other than the haircut_, Frank thought. She looked... unsure. At their first meeting she had exuded a confidence that had bordered on disdain, obviously only requesting his assistance because she had been been ordered to. Now, she radiated a tense uncertainty. He put the box down on the bed, and gestured to the desk chair. "Please, sit down."

She nodded in acknowledgment and crossed the room in efficient strides. Frank sat next to the box and gave her an expectant look.

Silence settled on them like a blanket of fog, growing more uncomfortable with each passing second, and Frank had to fight the urge to tap his fingers on the box, to make himself remain still, to school his features into an impassive mask. _Don't jump, Hardy. Keep it calm_, he thought. _ She came to you._

The corner of Malone's mouth twitched, almost as if she could read his thoughts. "You're probably wondering why I'm here." Her voice cut through the silence without diminishing the tension in the room.

He nodded, trying to keep his brown eyes from betraying a flash of curiosity. "The question had crossed my mind."

Malone leaned forward as she spoke, a strand of hair escaping from the hair band, and brushing her cheek. "I'd like to offer you a job."


	3. Training

Thanks to max2013, hlahabibty, Caranath, Xenitha, and ukfan101 for their reviews. As I said initially, I had the first three chapters written, and here is chapter three. Now the wait begins. I will post each subsequent chapter as soon as it is complete, but I can't promise it will be soon. RL spends too much time getting in my way. Enjoy.

* * *

"What?" The word exploded from Frank's chest. Whatever he might have thought the agent was going to say, this hadn't even made the list. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "A job? I don't understand."

Malone leaned back in the chair again, more in control now that the first words were out. "You interested me when we met in January, so I did some research on you. I was... impressed to say the least. Computer skills, detective experience, recommendations from senior members of the bureau..." She ticked each item off on one of her fingers as she spoke. "And you're the right age."

"What do you mean 'the right age'?" His eyes narrowed.

The agent's expression went blank, a slight tightening around her lips the only indication of discomfort or nervousness. "I... _We_ need someone who can pass as a college student. More specifically, a college dropout." She looked him straight in the face. "It's taken us a while to track down this guy's location, and I don't want to lose him. If the pattern we've seen is any indication, he'll be on the move again in a few months. Then we have to start all over." The fingers of her left hand curled in toward her palm. "Again." The word came from between clenched teeth.

Despite everything, Frank found himself growing interested. An actual case, working with the FBI – even if he didn't know the details, and even if it only lasted a few months – sounded much more inteesting than reorganizing the files at his father's office while he waited for the Joe to graduate from college the next year. But there was something off here...

"What happened to your partner?" He had to admit he felt somewhat gratified when Malone flinched.

"What do you mean?" Her expression morphed into one of unconcern. He also had to admit to being impressed at how quickly she recovered. "I don't have a partner.

"Not now, you don't," he said, "but I'm fairly sure the Bureau wouldn't be sending a rookie undercover without backup. And you just said you needed someone who could pass as a college dropout. Nothing personal, but you look more like a high school student than a federal agent." Her shoulders stiffened as he paused to let the words sink in. "Look, I need to know what happened before I can make any decisions." His head tilted to one side. "Was he found out? Did your guy discover you're on to him?"

Malone snorted delicately, and her shoulders relaxed. "No. He was being a good samaritan, changing an old man's tire in a grocery store parking lot, and was hit by some guy who backed out of his space without looking. Broken leg, concussion." She sighed. "He's on desk duty for a few months while his leg heals, and by that time..." She shrugged. "Perfectly innocent accident, less than optimal timing."

Frank nodded, understanding her frustration. "So, what's your guy done?"

"False IDs." Malone leaned forward. "Normally it wouldn't be our jurisidiction, but they keep being found in states other than where he's operating at the time."

"Are they good?"

This time she nodded. "Some of the best we've come across. Licenses from at least twenty-eight states, almost picture-perfect. We know he's down a guy and some equipment as his last location was raided by state troopers in Rhode Island. The guy turned state's evidence to reduce his sentence, so we at least have an idea where the operation was headed next."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"Moscow, Idaho."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So, what do you think, Dad?" Frank finished drying the roasting pan, then put it away with the rest of the cookware. He and his father were cleaning up after dinner, his mother and aunt sitting outside in the cool early summer evening. "Should I take it?"

After Agent Malone had left, he had sat in the now-empty room thinking over what she had said before making the drive back to Bayport, and when his mother jokingly asked why it had taken so long for him to get home, the story had spilled out.

Fenton Hardy regarded his older son with shadowed eyes. "It could be a good opportunity for you son. Experience, connections..."

"But?" The unspoken word had hung in the air at the end of his father's sentence.

There was a long pause. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Frank, but are you sure you're ready for something like this?" He held up his hands to forestall the words of protect he knew would be coming. "I know you and your brother are good." A faint smile crossed his face. "You were taught by the best, after all. But this will be different. For starters, you'll be alone."

"No. Agent Malone and I will be partners. With back up." Frank could hear the note of irritation in his voice and tried to swallow it down.

Fenton raised his hands again. "That's true, but you don't know her all that well, her strengths and weaknesses, how good she is, and there are details about your back up they won't share with a contractor." He paused. "And you won't have Joe." He looked at his son. "I trust your judgment, Frank, and will back you up no matter what you decide, but do you want your first case of this type to be with someone you don't know as well as your brother?"

Frank froze. Intellectually, he had realized if he took the job he'd be doing it without Joe, but had he really understood what it meant? They had worked as a team for so long, they could react automatically to almost any challenge. What would it be like working with someone he would have to explain his actions to? He turned his gaze toward his father. "So, you think I should turn it down?"

"I didn't say that," his dad responded. "I think _you _need to decide what to do. I just think you need to decide it with a full understanding of what you're getting yourself into." He stood, turning toward the living room. "I'm going to go see if you mother would like some tea." As he was about to leave the kitchen, he turned to face Frank again, smiling. "It's good to have you home, son. Happy graduation. And welcome to the real world." He chuckled as he left the room.

Frank swallowed, sighed, then walked over to where the phone hung on the wall by the sink. He punched in Joe's cell phone number and took a deep breath. The phone rang once, twice...

"I'm only taking a break for dinner." Joe's voice sounded muffled, the words not entirely clear.

"What are you eating?"

There was a swallowing noise, then a moment of coughing before Joe came back on the line. "Frank? Geez, 'bro, I thought you were Aunt Gertrude. She's been calling every few hours to make sure I'm studying and not goofing around." The sound of something being crumpled sounded in Frank's ear.

"Well, you are, right? Studying I mean." Frank leaned against the counter, a smile forming on his face.

"What do you take me for, an idiot? Don't answer that." There was a pause, and Frank could tell Joe was taking another bite of something. "Of course I'm studying. Or I was. Now I'm eating. Then I'll go back to studying." Another bite. "So, what's up? I'm pretty sure _you're_ not calling to tell me to study harder."

"I know a lost cause when I see it," Frank said, a laugh escaping from his lips. "And, yes, I'm kidding." The laughter died as he remembered the reason for the call. "Look, I don't want to take up to much of your studying time, but I have a question for you." He paused, trying to think of the best words to use. "I've been offered a job."

Joe spluttered into the phone. "Dude, you just got home, what, two hours ago? How could you...?"

"Remember the FBI agent I told you about? The one who was looking into Roger's disappearance?"

"Yeah, why?" There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "She wants you to work with her? Are you planning on joining the Bureau?" Disbelief and suspicion crept into Joe's voice.

"No." Frank made sure the word was firmly spoken and was almost positive he heard a relieved breath coming from his brother. "She wants me as a contractor. Short-term only. It should just be a couple of months at the most."

"Oh." There were chewing noises, then a noisy swallow. "You taking it?"

"I think so." Frank paused. "I wanted to run it by you first."

"Why?"

"Because you're my _partner_. I didn't want you to hear it from Mom or Dad and think I was deserting you."

Joe grunted. "Oh. Good. Well, anyway, it should be more interesting than spending your days filing cold cases in Dad's office. And don't tell him I said that."

This time Frank laughed. "I won't. Mainly because I was thinking the same thing."

A muffled shout came from Joe's end of the line. "Hey, 'bro, I have to go. My study partner says dinner break is over. Good luck, and tell me everything."

It wasn't until the call ended that Frank realized he hadn't found out what Joe had been eating.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Training started in earnest the day after Frank arrived in Washington. There were briefings on their identities, sessions with with more senior agents regarding wardrobes, and meetings with tech staff about the types of surveillance equipment they would have access to. Except for the technology, which Frank wished he could spend more time investigating, most of it was fairly routine.

Except that he wasn't working with Joe.

Agent Malone – Kara, he kept needing to remind himself – was bright, attentive, and ambitious, Frank could see that right away. She also had very limited experience with undercover work, and it was getting to her in a big way. Their handlers had them act out different situations in their new personas, and each time, Malone could only get so far before she forgot an important piece of character work or tripped on a minor detail. Once their wardrobes had been worked out, Frank insisted they continue the training sessions in their new clothes.

His was fairly simple – distressed jeans with patches over the knees, a tighter than he would usually wear t-shirt, and a faded plaid flannel button up shirt. He hadn't had a chance to get his hair cut and used it to the character's advantage, keeping it messy and hanging in his face.

Malone's outfit was another matter entirely.

"Explain to me again why I'm dressed like this?" Agent Malone's irritation radiated from her like an aura surrounding her body. Her eyes were granite and her shoulders so tight Frank could almost see the proverbial chip on them, both of which provided an interesting contrast to the purple-tipped ponytails hanging from either side of her head and the artfully torn, pink 'Hello Kitty' t-shirt she wore over a black tank top.

"It's a disguise," Frank said, making sure to keep his voice even. He was fairly sure her service revolver was hidden somewhere in the baggy camouflage pants she wore, and he didn't want to antagonize her. There was something about the operation that displeased her, and he hoped it wasn't him. After all, she had been the one to call him. He cleared his throat before continuing. "One that would be more effective if you didn't carry yourself like a federal agent."

"I _am_ a federal agent," she snarled, glaring at him. "Or have you forgotten that fact?"

Frank pushed the bangs from his eyes. He hated when his hair was this long. Even though he knew it was necessary for the job, it made it hard to see everything he needed to. "Not now you're not. Now you're Carrie McAllister. You can keep the anger as part of your character – it fits the pseudo-goth look you've got going on – but you've got to loosen up your posture, or no one's going to buy that you're who you say you are. Watch." He took a breath, then relaxed his shoulders making his neck to droop slightly, the hair flopping back over his eyes, then forced his expression into one of annoyance. "Dad said I hafta look out for you, so you gotta come with me. Got it?" The words, spoken in a nasal Boston accent, sounded bored and resigned.

Malone stilled, her eyes widening. "How do you do that?"

"Practice," Frank said in the other voice. "A whole lotta practice." He straightened up, cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow at her. "Your turn."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. As she exhaled, she slumped her shoulders down, tilted her head to the side, and shifted so most of her weight was on her right leg. When she opened her eyes, most of the anger was gone, replaced by a petulant sullenness. "This better?" Her native Boston accent deepened, the 'r' at the end of the word disappearing.

"What's your name?" Frank straightened up, deliberately using his own voice.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Really? You can't keep track of your sister's name? Jerk."

"And who am I?"

"Zack McAllister," she said, a hint of loathing in her voice. "My wicked lame older brother. Loser who's never met a comic book or a computer he doesn't like better than a person."

Frank nodded. "Not bad. You're still a little stiff. And don't embellish too much. It's easier if you keep it simple."

Malone straightened, her expression changing to one of grudging respect. "It's not just computers you're good at, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You make this look easy," she said, her hand making a sweeping motion. "I called you from out of nowhere to assist us, and not only are you not nervous, you're giving me advice on how to go undercover. How long have you been doing this anyway?"

"A long time." Frank pushed the hair out of his eyes again. "My brother and I have been solving mysteries for years. Sometimes with our dad, sometimes on our own."

"If he's anything like you, we could use you both at the FBI."

A chuckle escaped from Frank's lips. "Uh, no. Joe doesn't do real well with people telling him what to do. He'd spend more time in trouble than on the job." He shook his head. "Definitely not. Once he graduates we're opening our own agency." His eyes took on a faraway look. "It's been our dream since we were kids. We make a great team." He pulled himself back from thoughts of the future. "Now, let's try that again."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After several days of going over their new personas, Kara was feeling more confident in her ability to become Carrie McAllister. She and Frank – _Zack, I need to think of him as Zack_ – had gone to one of the nearby malls for an afternoon to see how others would react to their characters, and she was feeling rather pleased with the results.

At one point, she and Frank had disappeared into a crowd of older teenagers and watched with glee as their handlers scanned the food court trying, with limited success, to find them. A half hour later when they emerged from the group with ice cream cones, the older agents had whisked them back to the office, complaining about the action. Frank had merely cocked his head to one side and said, "I thought the point was to blend in, to make other kids think we were their age. I'd say we did pretty well."

The handlers – babysitters, Frank had called them in his Zack persona – were not impressed, and left them in one of the conference rooms to report on their behavior to the higher-ups.

After a half hour with no word from any of the other team members, Kara felt herself getting nervous. "What if we get in trouble?"

Frank simply shrugged. "If they want us to get used to being these other people, then they can't complain when we are." He moved his hand up and down, indicating her ripped jeans and studded leather jacket. "Can you see Zack and Carrie waiting around for an adult to tell them what to do and where to go?"

"I guess not." She let out a breath, watching as his eyes darted toward the door. "What?"

"Footsteps. Get back into character."

She relaxed her shoulders and shifted most of her weight onto one hip. As the door opened, she casually lifted one hand and started examining the fingernails on her right hand. Her index finger was chipped again. _Have to make sure I watch it when I'm shooting_, she thought. _I must be catching in on the trigger guard._

"Why the hell did I get called out of work this time? What the hell were you two doing?" Kara didn't recognize the voice that came from the doorway, and it caught her by surprise. The Boston accent was deeper than her own, and the anger in the words were clear. She flinched without meaning to, noticing from the corner of her eye, that Frank stood stock-still, intentionally not acknowledging the other person in the room. She turned to see who the speaker was, and started.

The man appeared to be in his early sixties, had salt-and-pepper hair covered by a faded Red Sox baseball cap, was unshaven with a week old beard sprouting from his cheeks, wore a plaid jacket over a tattered, button-up shirt, and had an annoyed expression on his face.

"Carrie, what were you doin' in that mall?"

Kara blinked. The voice... It was Agent Vickers.

"Carrie?!" The anger in that one word was crystal clear.

"Nothin'" Frank spoke the word in a tone that indicated he didn't care who was asking or how pissed off he might be.

Vickers stomped over to the table and pushed a chair out of his way to stand next to Frank. "You don't get to use that tone with me, Zack. Don't forget, I'm the one in charge here, not you."

Frank lifted his eyes to the older man's, tilted his head to one side, then lifted his right hand – palm facing in – and calmly gave the man the finger. "Like. I. Care."

Kara sucked in a breath, her eyes closing. _Oh, G-d, no._ She opened her eyes in time to see Vickers slap the top of Frank's head with an open palm.

"You better care, you stupid punk."

"What're you gonna do if I don't, send us back to Boston?" Frank snorted. "I'd rather be there than this pit stop."

The two men glared at each other for a moment, then Vickers straightened up. "Not bad," he said, a grin starting to form on his face. "You think fast on your feet. Of course, I'd expect as much from one of Fenton's sons."

"Thank you, sir," Frank replied. His lips twisted in an expression of chagrin. "Sorry about the rude gesture, sir."

Vickers laughed and held out his right hand. "Arthur Vickers. I'll be the accompanying adult for the two of you. Widowed father of you two delinquents. And no need to apologize, I think it's just what Mr. McAllister would have done." He glanced at Kara. "I think you may have shocked Agent Malone, however."

Kara shook her head, feeling the color coming back into her cheeks. "Maybe just a little."

"You'll get over it," Vickers said. "You have to if you're going to be successful undercover." His expression sobered up. "Which will be sooner than I had thought. Apparently our entrepreneur got his shop set up more quickly than we thought he would. We're heading out the day after tomorrow."


	4. Induction

Thanks to max2013, bhar, Caranath, Xenitha, hlahabibty, ukfan101, Jilsen, and SnowPrincess88 for their reviews. Sorry for the long wait between chapters; RL and a bad case of writer's block took hold. Anyway, on to Chapter 4!

* * *

"So, _this_ is home sweet home?" Frank stood in the open door, keeping Agents Malone and Vickers behind him, and made sure both his words and the accompanying contemptuous tone were loud enough to hear up and down the hallway. He dropped his duffel bag down on the cracked linoleum floor, forcing it to land with a loud thud then kicked it out of the way, allowing the others enter the apartment. "Kinda looks like student housing," he said, his eyes sweeping the empty room for places where cameras might be hidden.

"That's 'cause it _is_ student housing," Vickers said, an annoyed note in his voice, his affected Boston accent sounding rough and out of place. He shut the door behind them, then reached into his own bag with one hand while waving his other around to indicate Frank should keep talking.

Frank cleared his throat and started walking around. "This the best you could do, Dad? The place is a dump."

The door had opened into a small galley kitchen with a larger living/dining room on the other side of the counter. As Frank looked around, he could see a hallway on the right side of the room that held three open doors. A few steps showed behind the doors were two small bedrooms and a crowded bathroom.

"We're lucky we've even got a place to stay, Zack," Vickers said as he swept a small electronic device over each of the walls in the main room, then followed Frank down the short hall to the other rooms.

"Hate ta break it to ya, but this ain't a place. It's a closet." Frank stomped around the hall maintaining a steady gaze on the sensors on Vickers's device. _No bugs so far_, he thought. _And I haven't seen any cameras. Not that there would be a lot of places to hide them in here._ He turned back to the older agent. "So, which bedroom's mine?"

"Neither," Vickers said. "Carrie gets the back room, and I'm taking the front one."

"What?" Frank raised an eyebrow at him, then lifted his voice in apparent outrage. "Then where do I sleep?"

"Duh." Malone's voice came from the kitchen area. Frank strode back to the front room, and saw she was sitting on the counter, her legs swinging back and forth. "You get the couch."

Vickers leaned around the corner, moving his free hand in a large circle. Frank nodded, his heartbeat quickening. "The couch?" he yelled at Malone over his shoulder. "_What _couch?"

Vickers' voice came from the bathroom. "It's coming later along with the rest of the furniture."

"Why the hell couldn't we have gotten an apartment with three rooms?" A pounding noise sounded on the floor.

Malone gave him a thumbs up sign and laughed. "Still can't count can you, big brother? It's _got _three rooms. Just not one for you to have all to yourself." More pounding came from downstairs.

"Enough, you two." Vickers boomed from the hallway. "Carrie get off the counter. It's for food, not your behind. Zack, you know money's tight right now. We're staying here until the renovations are done. Jack said once a bigger place opens up, he'll let us have it. This is what was available."

Frank stomped on the floor a few times, stopping as the older agent walked back into the room.

"Looks clean," Vickers said, his voice lowered to a whisper. "And it looks like you two are doing a good job establishing our credibility with the neighbors." He flashed them a quick smile. "Oh, and about that couch..." His eyes ranged over Frank's lanky figure, taking in the ripped jeans and the black t-shirt spotted with bleach stains. "I made sure we're getting one you'll fit on. With good springs. It'll look pretty beat up, but the support will be fine. After all," the smile widened, "having you bent over like a question mark from sleeping on a lousy mattress won't do the mission any good at all."

"I appreciate that, sir." Frank kept his voice to a whisper. "I admit I was a bit concerned. Most sofabeds and I don't get along all that well."

Malone pushed herself lightly off the counter, a smile playing across her lips. "If you weren't so abnormally tall, it wouldn't have been an issue."

Frank sent a mock glare in her direction. "Really getting into your character, aren't you, Carrie?"

The petite agent shrugged and resettled the ripped, oversized sweatshirt on her shoulders. "I'm not a huge fan of the look, but I'm comfortable. It's a fair trade-off."

Vickers gave them an indulgent smile. "Well, we're here to work, so I want you two to go explore. Kara, you head onto campus and look around. Frank, you walk around the neighborhoods, get the lay of the land." He paused, then indicated Frank with his chin. "You go first. Make a fuss on your way out. We want the neighbors to get used to you as a hothead."

"Yes, sir," Frank muttered. He took a deep breath then stomped to the front door. "Fine," he yelled, a note of barely supressed rage in his voice, "then I'll find someplace I am wanted!" He jerked the door open, then slammed it shut as he exited the apartment, listening to the wood reverberate as it settled. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and muttered to himself as he stormed down the hallway, noticing the number of doors that cracked open as he walked past. _Good_, he thought. _It's a start._

Once outside, Frank walked to the end of the street, then turned right, skirting the edge of the University. Most of what was around looked like more student apartments, a few multi-family homes, and some strip-mall type businesses. Idly, he cataloged the street names as he walked – Blake Avenue, S. Deakin Street, W 6th Street, S. Almon Street. As he turned on E. 3rd Street, a light drizzle started falling from the sky, the water droplets falling faster and heavier as he continued. Just as the skies really opened up, he ducked into a store called Quest Star, hoping it didn't turn out to be some New Age store selling crystals and incense, and feeling pleasantly surprised to find it was a comic book and game shop.

He shook the water from his hair and glanced around, noticing all eyes in the store were turned toward him. A scowl touched his face, his eyes narrowing. "What?" Every head turned away, some looking down at books in their hands, others exchanging looks across the tables in the back of the store.

A noise came from Frank's right, the sound of a throat clearing. "Uh, can I help you find something?" a nervous voice asked.

The guy sitting behind the counter was a little older than college-aged, maybe twenty-four or five, wearing a t-shirt with a Doctor Who logo. His hair was longer than Frank's, dark brown, and pulled back in a short ponytail, revealing small plugs stretching his earlobes.

Frank looked at him for a moment before speaking. "Whadda you got on Daredevil?" He made sure to play up the Boston accent on the last word. "Anything by Miller. If you don't got him, Brubaker."

The cashier's eyebrows went up. "You sure know your writers. Let me check the inventory." He leaned over a computer keyboard and ran his hands over the keys. "My name's Chuck, by the way. I own the place. You new here?" When he got no answer, he flicked his eyes back to the computer screen. "Right. Looks like there are a couple of single issues mixed in Miscellaneous D section." He pointed down the 3rd aisle on the right. "Condition issues, but still readable. Feel free to take them out of the plastic and look at them." He sat back down but watched Frank carefully as he walked over to where the comics were housed.

Slowly, conversations started up again, punctuated by the sound made by the hard-driving rain each time the door opened to admit a new person. The third time the door's bell sounded, two guys came in together, arguing loudly.

"Dude, there's no way Batman would lose." The smaller of the two gestured frantically with his hands. "He's too smart. He'd know a way to outwit Superman." He wore a black leather aviator jacket that was at least two sizes too big. As his hands moved, the sleeves slid up past his elbows, and his blue eyes sparked with his argument.

The second guy was much taller and wore a Vandals hoodie over a tight blue t-shirt and jeans. His hair was cropped close to his head, making him look like a perfect, clean-cut farm boy. "Okay, Randall, explain how you outwit a guy with laser vision and super-breath who can lift buildings and fly." He put his hands on his hips and started talking again before the first guy could answer. "Here's how. You don't. Brute strength is going to overpower intelligence."

Randall turned around, walking backwards down the aisle to Frank's left. "But he's a boy scout, Matt. Superman isn't going to do anything that's not fair and above-board. Batman doesn't have that compunction. He'll do _anything_ to win." He stopped and pointed at Matt. "And that, my friend, is the end of the argument. Work calls." Turning, he sprinted down the last few feet and disappeared behind a door at the back.

Frank grabbed a comic book and brought it up to the front of the store. "Guy's a menace," he said, tossing the book on the counter. "He works here?"

There was a momentary pause as Chuck and Matt exchanged a quick glance. "There's extra space in the back," Chuck said, a forced brightness in his voice. "This guy leases it out. He runs a computer business." He kept his eyes down, counting out Frank's change. "Games or something. Randy may seem like a space shot, but he's a wiz with comptuer graphics. You never know, right?"

"Yeah." Frank kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. _Computer graphics? _He shook his head. "Guy hiring?"

This time it was Matt who answered. "Randall hasn't said anything, but I don't think..." His voice trailed off.

Frank shrugged. "Whatever." A glance out the window told him the rain had stopped. He grabbed his book started walking toward the door. Just as he reached out for the handle, he turned to Matt. "Zatanna."

"What?"

"Zatanna would beat both Batman and Superman. Neither one is immune to magic." He pushed the door open and walked out.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

By the time Frank got back to the apartment, some of the furniture had arrived – a used dining room set, beds for the two other rooms, and the sofa. Neither Vickers nor Malone were home, so he sat down, took out a notebook, and started drawing a map of the area to keep the details fresh in his mind. Before he was finished, the door opened, and Malone walked in, the ripped white sweatshirt she had on hanging damply from her tiny frame.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Dad home yet?" He shook his head, still concentrating on his map. Malone disappeared down the hall for a moment, then returned with a towel around her shoulders. "Find anything useful?"

"I don't know." Frank put the pen down. "Comic book store with a suspicious tenant who does 'something with computers.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Seems odd to me that the guy who owns the place wouldn't know what was going on. Could be I just made them nervous. Who knows? How about you?"

Malone rubbed the back of her head with the towel. "Let's see. There's not a big punk presence here. I got hit on by about twelve different frat boys. I did get in with a few of the sorority girls. We're meeting tomorrow for lunch. I'm hoping I can start dropping hints about parties and fake IDs."

"Just be sure to be subtle about it," Frank said as he picked up his map again.

"You don't trust me?" Malone's voice had an slight edge to it.

"What? No. I mean, yes, I trust you." He let out a breath. "This is your first undercover operation, right?"

"Yes." The edge grew harder.

He looked at her. "All I'm saying is, let them tell you about it. Don't ask where you can get one. It's too obvious." He paused. "I know you know this already, but sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the... excitement of what we're doing. If we're going to catch this guy, we need to take it slow."

Malone relaxed. "Yeah, I know."

The front door opened, and they both jumped slightly. "Good." Vickers's voice came from the hallway. "You're both here. Now get off your butts and help bring the groceries in."

Frank rolled his eyes. "No rest for the weary, I guess. Back to the grind."


	5. Dessert

Thanks to Caranath, max2013, hollyboo2001, ukfan101, Xenitha, Zenfrodo, Paulina Ann, SnowPrincess88, LazyPanther, Paaps, and MaddyR for their reviews.

* * *

There was a long moment of silence, then a quiet splashing sound as a handful of silverware slid back into the soapy water.

"You did what?" Joe's voice sounded louder than usual in the sudden quiet of the room.

"We shut down a homegrown terrorist cell." Frank's eyes turned back toward Kara, the muscles in his jaw suddenly tight. He let out a breath and leaned back against the counter. "It wasn't..." His voice broke off.

"It wasn't what we expected." Kara sat back in her chair. "We went in just thinking the guy was just selling fake IDs to underage college kids. It ended up being a whole lot more."

Joe looked from Kara's expression back to his brother's face. It was a carefully constructed blank. _Looks like there's more this than he's letting on. I wonder..._

"Can you tell us about it, or is it classified?" Anna was twisting her hair in a loop around her wrist. Her voice had a tentative note in it, and Joe noticed her watching Frank as well.

He turned his gaze back toward Kara. "Can you, babe?"

Kara nodded. "It's been long enough. It shouldn't be a problem."

Frank was now staring into space, the muscles around his jaw flexing almost imperceptibly. Anna stood from the table and walked over to him, the loop of hair floating down to her side. "I have an idea," she said, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder and pretending not to notice when he flinched ever so slightly at her touch, "why don't we have dessert in the living room? You and Kara can tell us what happened, and you guys can finish the dishes after. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great!" Joe forced a note of enthusiasm into his voice. The look on Frank's face bothered him. "What did you bring?"

"Well, you seemed to like the pie I brought for Thanksgiving..." Anna's words trailed off, her eyes still on Frank's face.

"Pie?" This time the enthusiasm wasn't feigned. Joe's mouth was practically watering at the memory of the last pie Anna had made. "Is it apple? Please tell me it's apple."

"I told you, Anna." Kara's voice held a wry note. "It was the only thing he talked about after Thanksgiving. For almost two weeks. He seems to have this thing about food." She shook her head and smiled fondly at him. "Fortunately, he also has a few other redeeming qualities."

"Of course, I do." Joe tossed the sponge into the sink sending droplets of water shooting up toward the ceiling, then froze, a frown forming on his lips. "Wait. Just a few?"

Kara snorted. "Well, maybe more than a few. Why don't you and your brother go sit on the sofa, and I'll make some coffee." She looked at Frank, raising her voice a bit. "Sound good?"

Frank shook his head, looking for a moment as if he were coming out of a trance. "Yeah. Sure. Coffee."

"We'll just take this with us. To keep it… safe." Joe reached out for the pie, but Anna snatched it out of his reach.

"No, you don't," she said, her dark eyes snapping. "I spent a long time on this pie and would like to eat some of it."

Joe sighed and slung an arm around Frank's shoulders, guiding him to the sofa. "Nobody trusts me," he said, making his voice sound small and pathetic.

"Not around food they don't." Frank's voice sounded strained even as the words automatically left his mouth. "Not if they've ever met you."

"Very funny, 'bro." He pushed his brother gently down on the sofa. "Now spill. I want to hear all about this case."

Frank shifted on the cushion, leaning forward until his elbows touched his knees. "It's more Kara's story than mine."

"What do you…?" A plate holding a generous slice of apple pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream appeared in front of Joe's face, making him lose his train of thought. He grabbed the plate and held it close to his nose. "Oh, yeah. Lots of cinnamon. Just the way I like it." Kara's immediate chuckle brought back what he had been going to say. "Kara's story? I thought the two of you were working together?"

Kara perched next to Joe on the arm of the couch, a much smaller piece of pie on a plate in her hands. "We were, so I beg to differ on that point. The coffee will be a few minutes. Anna and I figured you'd want to wait for your pie until it was ready."

"What? Oh, thanks.. I just meant..." Frank's words dropped off. "It was your first big assignment… I was just..."

"My partner," she said, her voice softening. "You were my partner. And it wasn't _my_ case. It was _our_ case." Her eyes locked on to Frank's, staying focused on his face even after his gaze fell.

"I know." Frank let out a breath.

Joe swallowed the large bite of pie he had put in his mouth without tasting it. "All right," he said, "one of you needs to tell me what happened on this case sometime in the next few seconds, or I'm going to go ballistic." He scooped up a fork full of ice cream and lifted it to his lips. "And go easy on the cryptic stuff. I'd like to concentrate on this," he gestured to the plate with his chin, "rather than trying to figure out what you're saying, or – given that it's the two of you who are going to be telling this story – what you're _not _saying. Deal?"

"Deal." Kara rolled her eyes at Frank. "Has he always been like this?"

Frank nodded, his eyes still focused on the braided rug under the coffee table. "Yeah, pretty much." His voice still sounded flat in Joe's ears. "Where's Anna?"

"Bathroom," Kara said. "She said she'd be along in a minute or two."

"We can wait," Joe said. "It gives me a chance to finish this and get started on slice number two." _And so I can _focus_ on what you're not saying, 'bro. If the way you're acting is any indication, it's going to be something big._


	6. Employment

Thanks to Xenitha, Max2013, Caranath (a pie shop just opened in a town near me; I think I'm in trouble…), Guest (sorry the updates take so long), bhar, j, and LazyPanther. The good news is I got my son Dragon Naturally Speaking to help with his homework, so I won't be needed to type his stuff anymore and can(hopefully) spend more time on my own. I'd apologize for the updates taking so long, but I can't seem to get them done any faster. That said, I will not abandon this or any other story I write. Onward!

* * *

Kara sat at the small, round table her feet up on the chair to her left, knees bend to show a laddered rip going from her right knee up to her hip. He right hand was wrapped around a nondescript, white porcelain mug of coffee while her left threaded a purple-tipped lock of hair through her fingers. She lot out a slow breath, her eyes flickering toward the clock over the counter.

_It's only been twenty minutes_, she thought, stifling a groan. _Why does it feel like twenty hours?_ She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped cautiously. The last time she had tried to drink from the mug she had burned her tongue.

"You have to watch out," a voice said over her shoulder. "They super heat the water here. It makes me wonder what they're trying to kill off."

Kara tipped her head back and caught a glimpse of a tall girl with short-cropped red hair and chunky, black-framed glasses framing large, hazel eyes. The girl walked around to the front of the table, shuddering slightly. "Although, on second thought, I don't think I want to know." She nodded a greeting. "Mind if I join you?"

"It's a free country." Kara shrugged and shifted so she was sitting upright in her seat.

"I spend a lot of time here," the girl said, "and I'd remember seeing you." Her eyes swept over Kara's ripped jeans, black aviator jacket over a neon pink shirt, and hair tied back with a pair of shoelaces. "And from the attention you're getting," she glanced over at a table with four boys, all of whom immediately looked away, "I'm guessing you're new. I'm Alice McIntyre."

"Carrie McAllister."

Alice took a swig from her mug as Kara gaped. The girl laughed. "I threw in two ice cubes before I walked over here. It's the only way not to end up with third degree burns down your throat." She took another sip. "So, what's your major?"

Kara snorted. "Am I not allowed here if I don't have one?"

"Undeclared? You a freshman?"

"Un-enrolled is more like it." Kara stuck her pinky in the mug, then licked it off, testing the temperature of the contents. It was now pretty much safe to drink.

"You don't go to school here, and you're hanging out in the student union?" Alice's eyebrows had drawn together. "I don't get it."

"It was someplace to go," Kara said. "There's not that much to do around here, you know? Not like back home."

Alice nodded her head in agreement. "You got that right. Where's home? I mean, you don't sound like you come from around here, but..."

"Boston." Kara exaggerated her accent to make it come out as _Bah-stahn_ and was gratified to see the other girl's eyes widen.

"And now you're stuck out here?" Alice looked almost queasy as the words left her mouth. "Why?"

"My dad was concerned that my stupid brother was," she made air quotes with her fingers, "falling in with the wrong crowd." She twisted her hands and pretended to examine her fingernails, making sure she could see the other girl's expression.

"What was he doing?" The other girl was leaning over the table, her mug forgotten.

"Nothing really terrible." Kara shrugged and stirred her now cooled coffee with her index finger. "At least, not in my opinion, but instead of him getting in trouble, I got sentenced _here._"

Alice laughed. "It's not _that_ bad."

"Really?"

"Of course not," the other girl said, twisting her hands at the wrist with a flourish. "Not now you've met me!"

Kara smiled. She was finally getting somewhere.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So, one last question."

Frank sighed loudly, and drummed his fingers on the table. "You said that, like, the last three times. Do I get the job?"

Chuck put his hand up. "This'll be the last one, Zack. Really," he added as Frank rolled his eyes. "The first day you came in here, Randy and Matt were arguing about Batman and Superman..."

"An' I said Zatanna would wipe the floor with them both. So what?" Frank leaned back in his chair and started tapping his foot against the table leg in counterpoint to his drumming fingers. He watched with interest as Chuck's jaw tightened, then was forced to relax just the slightest bit. _Nice to know I'm not the only one who gets annoyed by Joe's fidge__ts_, he thought. _This could prove useful._

"So," Chuck leaned forward. "What about the time Batman did beat Superman?"

Frank tipped his head to one side. "Never happened." He made sure to drop the 'r' at the end of the first word as he put a note of disdain in the second.

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but Frank leaned forward, pushing his index finger toward the other man's nose.

"Miller's alternate universe all the way," he continued. "That book was just a one-off – okay, a two-off if you count the shi… the crappy sequel, which I don't – that laid out a dystopia where Bats would _have_ to be able to beat Superman for the premise to work. I respect the man's work with Daredevil, but he never should have messed with the Bat." He slumped back in his chair. "So, do I get the job or not?"

Chuck's mouth formed the word 'dystopia', then he closed it and swallowed, blinking once or twice. "I never really thought about it that way… Most people looked at it as a whole new..." He shook his head. "Uh, yeah, the job's yours. When can you start?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After two weeks at Quest Star, Frank had discovered several things. First and foremost was that Chuck not only knew the entire inventory of the store – he had written the software for it himself, and Frank suspected it had originally been used to catalog Chuck's personal comic book collection – he also seemed to have memorized the names and preferred titles of every single one of his regular customers. That many of them were students at the University, which at over twelve thousand students was almost four and half times larger than Frank's alma mater, made this feat extremely impressive. The dismal accounting program the store used, however, more than balanced those facts out.

"Jesus," Frank said to Chuck one night at closing as he watched the other man scoop bills and checks without counting or organizing them into a zippered bag, "do you even have any idea how much we made today?"

Chuck waved a hand in the air. "I'll print out an inventory report at the end of the week and figure it out from there. It's all good."

It made Frank want to grind his teeth. As did the fact he still had no idea what was going on behind the locked door at the back of the store. Matt was in a few days a week either looking at comics or joining in one of several board games that seemed to go on for days at a time, but Randall was there every afternoon, sauntering down one of the aisles and disappearing out back.

"What do they do?" He asked Matt one afternoon while he was putting the new issues out for sale. "Other than take up space I could for storing these things, I mean."

The boy shrugged. "Randy doesn't talk about work," he said. "He had to sign some kind of, what do they call it… non disclosure agreement. All I know is it has to do with computer documents. Randy's really good with computers."

Frank watched as he sauntered over to one of the game tables and started talking to a few of the other regulars. _Documents_. _Good with computers_, he thought. _Well, Randy's not the only one who's good with computers._

The next day, Frank showed up at work and shoved a crumpled paper bag into Chuck's hands. "Here. I'm sick and tired of the labels you make us wear. We look like idiots."

Chuck's eyes widened as he tore open the bag. Professional looking name badges spilled out and fell onto the floor. He knelt down to pick them up, counting them as he did so. "There's one here for everybody. Zack, where did you get these? I don't have money in the budget for stuff like this."

Frank stared at him for a minute, channeling his inner Joe, before answering. "You have a budget? That's news." He bent to retrieve the last one and flipped it over and under his fingers. "I made them. And usually people say thank you when someone gives them something nice."

"You… you made them?" Chuck swallowed. He picked one up from the counter and examined it carefully. "I saw something like these in a catalog last week. Getting enough for all of us would have cost hundreds of dollars." He looked up at Frank's sullen glare and stepped back. "Uh, thank you."

There was a long pause. "You're welcome." Frank turned toward the stock room, sliding his jacket off his shoulders.

"Zack, hold on." Chuck's eyes were back on the ID in his hand. "Why are you working here?"

"I needed a job."

"No, if you can make something like this," Chuck held up the badge, "why are you wasting your time making minimum wage in a comic book store?"

Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "You're a smart guy. You figure it out." He strode into the back room, making sure to keep the door open enough to see as Chuck looked from the ID in his hand to the door at the back of the store.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kara spent her days hanging around campus, getting to know Alice, her roommate Jessica, and a few of the other students the girls hung around with, and listening to the conversations going on around her. The students here were like students anywhere, a mixture of idealistic individuals who wanted to change the world, practical people who worried about their grades and wanted a good job after they graduated, and slackers who were only concerned about their next party. The musings of the last group were both the least interesting and most most informative. While they spent an inordinate amount of time talking about parties and how wasted they had been, they also sprinkled their conversations with interesting tidbits about where under-aged drinkers could go to find alcohol, people to buy alcohol for them, or bars where the under twenty-one set could get admitted without an ID. A common complaint was the lack of places to get fake IDs as the sole manufacturer of the contraband had been arrested the previous semester on a drunk driving charge.

_And the sad part is they don't see the connection,_ Kara thought, stirring the contents of her mug. She wasn't sure if it made her more sad or angry.

"… but there's a new dude in the area making them," one girl said to a table full of interested listeners. "Jack got one last week, and he says it's really good."

_Which could mean one of two things_, Kara thought as she sipped her coffee and scanned the table to see if any of them admitted to being Jack. _Either Jack has no idea what a _good_ fake ID looks like, or our guy is really here._ She frowned at the table. _And if it is our guy, why isn't he flooding the market with the things? That's been his M.O., and he's certainly been here long enough..._

"Hey, Carrie. You okay?"

Kara looked up to see Alice looking down at her, concern written on her face. She blinked a few times before answering, giving herself a moment to come up with a reason for the scowl she could feel on her own face.

"Yeah. Issues with my dad."

Alice's expression became sympathetic. "Parents can be _so_ annoying." She sat at the table and launched into a rant of how unreasonable her own father could be. Kara nodded and pretended to follow along, all the while wondering how Frank managed to keep his true self so separated from the role he played that it never showed and trying not to sigh in frustration.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"How was work, son?" Frank looked up from the door to see Vickers sitting on the floor in the living room, a half-stained chair set on newspapers that were spread out in front of him.

He watched mesmerized as the agent dipped his brush into an open can of stain, wiped the bristles on the inner lip of the can once or twice, then firmly dragged the brush along the chair's seat.

"Uh, work, yeah. It was okay." He shut the door hard enough to make the door frame shake, then shook his head to clear it. "I think they're starting to trust me. The name tags went over well. Not that it's getting me behind that other door. Yet." He followed the brush in the agent's hand as the older man gently guided it along the tapered legs of the chair, leaving the finish as smooth as glass. "Where did you learn to do that? Sir."

Vickers chuckled softly. "My grandfather was a cabinet maker. When I was a kid, I used to get commandeered to help with the construction, only I wasn't very good at it." He paused and stretched his arm out, rotating it from side to side. "My sister was the builder in the family. He had her on the staining table, and she hated it. When Grandpa would leave to deal with customers, we'd switch places. She'd build, and I'd smooth and stain. Took Grandpa years to figure it out." He slid over on the floor to the back of the chair. "When he retired he left her the business, so I had to find another line of work." With a flick of his wrist, he finished smoothing the brush over the last leg, examined the chair with a critical eye, then nodded and rose to his feet, the stain can and brush held tightly in one hand. "Looks like I'm not the only one with experience in the family business, hey?"

"You know my father, sir?" Frank crossed to the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap.

"Our paths have crossed a few times." Vickers took a hammer and tapped the lid back on the can. "He's a good man. Professional." The agent chuckled. "We tried to get him to come work for us at one time, but your father said he enjoys his independence too much to want to take orders from one of us."

Frank choked on the water he was swallowing. "Dad said that?" he asked when he could breathe easily again.

"Not in so many words, but we got the message." Now Vickers was cleaning the brush. "Why?"

"That's pretty much what I told Agent Malone about my brother when she suggested both of us should join the agency." His eyes turned to the door as the handle turned. "And speaking of..."

He watched as Malone sashayed into the living room. "What is that stink?" she asked loudly before slamming the door shut.

Vickers tilted his head toward Frank. "I'm thinking Carrie won't be joinin' the family business," he said, a twinkle in his eye before turning back toward the girl. "And how did your outing go?"

"It was okay." Malone unwound the long purple shoelace she was using as a headband from around her head. "I still need to work on not letting myself show when I'm supposed to be Carrie." She heard Frank's sharp intake of breath. "But it was fine." She glanced at Vickers, avoiding Frank's eyes. "I blamed you, sir. Turns out parents are the universal reason for being out of sorts."

The agent chuckled. "Glad to be of service, my dear." Anything new?"

Still looking only at Vickers, she outlined what she has learned that afternoon.

"Good." Vickers nodded at her. "Looks like we're getting a good start. Now, whose turn was it to make dinner?"

"Mine," Kara said. "I hope pasta and salad is all right." She walked past Frank not looking at him as if intent on starting their meal but still felt his eyes on her.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The following Saturday, Frank went to work early and started installing the accounting program he had been working on since his first week at the shop. Merging the data from Chuck's inventory program took more time and concentration than he had expected, so he didn't hear the owner's approach until he was almost in the door. Instantly, Frank leaned back in the chair, slouching and leaning his head on his right fist.

"You're late," he said as Chuck stood in the doorway gaping at him. "I thought you got here at the crack of dawn or something. Maybe even lived here."

"What the hell are you doing?"

Frank swiveled the chair around to face the other man. Chuck's mouth was open, and his face was turning red. He shook his head and turned the chair back to the monitor. "You're gonna have a heart attack if you don't chill out. Take up yoga or something."

"What are you doing in my office?" Chuck slammed his metal _Incredible Hulk_ lunchbox down on the desk next to the computer keyboard.

"Dude, that's vintage," Frank said, putting a note of offense in his voice.

"Damn it, Zack! What's going on?"

Frank let out a long breath, then rolled the chair away from the computer so Chuck could see the screen. "I've been complaining about your computers system since I started here, and you weren't doing anything about it, so I took matters into my own hands." He stood, put his hands on Chuck's shoulders, and pushed him down into the chair before rolling it back in place. "Problem?"

Chuck scanned the screen, then reached for the mouse and started clicking a few fields. "What is this?"

"What does it look like? It's a huge, freakin' spreadsheet. It links to your inventory database and might keep your accountant from killing you when tax season rolls around." Frank snorted. "If you're lucky…"

"Why did you do this?" Chuck looked from the computer to Frank and back again.

"Bored, sick of watching you trying to figure out how much money you've made each day." Frank shrugged and lowered his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes. "Take your pick."

Chuck turned the chair around to face Frank. "And I'll ask again. Why are you working here?" He waved at the screen. "You could make a lot more money working as a programmer. Why are you cooling your heels here?"

Frank made his face freeze. "Look, if you don't want me to do this shit, I won't."

"That's not… No, of course not. I'm grateful," Chuck stammered. "I just don't understand why you're selling comic books instead of working on computer programs."

"Not a lot of those kind of jobs out here in the sticks, are there?" Frank moved back to the computer, bent over the keyboard, and hit a few keys. "And if you're asking why, you didn't run a background check on me."

There was a knock on the doorframe. Matt stood in the doorway, a faint blush shading his cheeks. "Guys, I hate to interrupt, but there's a girl here looking for Zack." He looked at Frank. "She was pretty insistent. Sorry."

Chuck looked at Frank. "Thank you for this. I appreciate it."

Frank followed Matt out of the office. "A girl?"

"Yeah. She's over there." Matt pointed to the back of the store where the gamers had started gathering.

A small crowd was surrounding one of the tables near the wall. As Frank and Matt got nearer, the group of boys parted to show Kara sitting on one of the tables

"Jesus, Carrie, get your ass off the table." Frank grabbed Kara by the arm and dragged her away from the gamers. "Why are you even here?"

Kara wrinkled her nose. "I can see why you work here. It's got you written all over it. Ow." She tried to shake her arm out of his grip. "Zack, let go."

Frank could see Matt sidling up on his right and dropped Kara's arm. He turned to the boy. "It's cool. She's my sister. Carrie, Matt. Matt, Carrie's just leaving. _Aren't you_?"

"Just as soon as you give me money. Dad says I hafta do the grocery shopping, and he's short, so he told me to come here and get some from you." She stuck tongue out at him and held out her hand. "So..."

Frank pulled out his wallet and gave her some bills. "Now get out."

"Gladly. I've had enough geek contamination for one day." Kara sauntered to the door, swinging her hips lazily from side to side.

"That's your sister?" Matt was again standing beside Frank, his mouth open slightly.

"Yeah. And not one word."

Matt shook his head. "Wow, I thought the attitude was just you. She's something else."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "A pain in the ass is what she is, but she's still my little sister." He turned to the gamers gathered around the table where Kara had been sitting. "And she's off limits. Got it?"

They all nodded then went back to their games.


	7. Inflitration

Thanks to Max2013 and Jilsen for the reviews! And Happy Holidays to everyone!

* * *

A few weeks had passed, and the investigation had made only slight progress. While Kara had managed to get some leads on fake IDs, the students who had them had mainly gotten them in or near their home towns, not in Moscow. Frank had continued working on different computer-related projects for the comic books store, impressing Chuck with his skill and dedication, but hadn't gotten any closer to the locked door at the back. The logical part of his brain told him he should give up and start looking elsewhere, but a small voice at the back of his head said he should go with his gut and stick it out.

"Did you hear about the party?" Kara asked Frank at dinner on Friday night.

"Some of the guys were talking about it, but I didn't get details." He helped himself to some spaghetti and passed the bowl to Agent Vickers. "Something about basketball. They were ragging Matt about it. I didn't hear a lot about it. I was working on getting the online payment part of the website to work"

"It's tonight. Alice wants me to go with her. She says it's a school tradition. To celebrate the beginning of the hoops season. Oh, and they were after Matt because he has to be there. He's on the team." She spun some noodles on her fork. "It sounds like it's going to be a blowout, huge numbers of people, and not just from our campus. Sounds like the perfect place to do some digging." She turned to Vickers. "What do you think, sir?"

"I think it's a great idea. Drunk college kids aren't always careful about what they say. Be sure to keep your ears open." He grinned at them, then stood and pushed in his chair. "Try not to get arrested yourselves. Getting you out of the charges could prove awkward. I know I don't have to tell you to be careful, but I will. Keep your eyes and ears open." He walked to the door and shrugged into his jacket. "I have to run to the hardware store. My compliments to whichever of you cooked tonight. Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll take care of it when I get back."

They nodded at him and watched as the door shut behind him.

Kara stood, picking up her plate. "I'm going to change. Give me about fifteen minutes, then we can head out. Okay?"

Frank nodded. "Sounds good."

When Kara came out of her room, Frank's eyes widened, and he coughed.

"What?" she asked, looking down at her legs. "Are my tights ripped in places they shouldn't be?"

"No. You look… fine." Frank's words were clipped, his voice tense. "Listen, Kara, don't take this the wrong way, but you need to be careful. Don't drink anything you haven't gotten yourself. Or anything from an open container. Or..."

Kara glared at Frank, her brown eyes agates under the sparkling, purple eyeshadow on her lids. "You know, I _have_ done this before."

Frank let out a breath. "No. You haven't."

"Been to a college party?" She snorted. His overly patient manner was getting irritating. "I _went _to college, Hardy." Her voice took on a hard edge. "I've been to dozens of parties."

"Not like _this_ you haven't." With one hand he indicated the ripped sweatshirt, short skirt, and overly large leather jacket she wore. "You've been to parties as Kara Malone, a good Irish-Catholic girl who went to them to hang out with friends, unwind, and have a good time. Right?"

Kara nodded, her eyes still hard, her expression wary. "And?"

"And this time you're going as Carrie McAllister."

"Established. What's your point, Hardy?"

Frank pushed the loose hair away from his forehead. "That you need to be _careful_. Everyone you've met – _everyone_ – sees Carrie as a rebel and is going to expect you to behave that way, to be a partier." His eyes held her gaze, and Kara was startled by the intensity she saw there. "It's a fine line between acting drunk and being drunk. Can you be both Carrie and Kara?"

Kara blinked, her posture loosening just a touch. "It's what I've trained for."

"I know that," Frank snapped, "but can you _do_ it?" He took a breath. "I can't observe what's going on around me if I have to make sure you're safe."

Kara's entire body stilled, then stiffened, straightening into her federal agent stance. "You don't trust me." It wasn't a question.

"That's not it at all!" Frank closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. "I'm not doing this right," he muttered. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Look, it's just that I'm not used to working with…"

"A girl?" Kara's voice sounded as if it could cut through ice.

"No!" The word exploded from Frank's chest. "No," he said, his voice quieter. He let out a breath. "I'm not used to working with someone who isn't my brother."

Kara took a step back. "What?"

"I know how Joe moves, how he acts, how he _thinks_. I know his strengths and he weaknesses." He ran a hand over the back of his head. "I don't have to wonder how he's going to react to anything unexpected that's thrown at him. I can just be there when he needs me."

"Wow." Kara shook her head, her mouth open slightly. "You sound just like my sister. Does your brother know you spend as much time watching out for him as I'm guessing you do? Because I can tell you from experience, it probably annoys him. It probably makes him think you don't trust him."

Frank gaped at her. "What? No! I trust Joe with my life."

"Uh huh." Kara's expressions was skeptical. "But you still watch out for him."

"Of course I do. I'm his older brother."

"Yeah. You said your brother's at NYU, right? I picked a college away from Boston so I could see what it was like _not_ having Lynne protecting me all the time." She looked up at him through lowered lashes. "I bet Joe appreciates not being babysat constantly. Just like I did. I got to learn how to take care of myself without Lynne doing it for me." She raised her eyes to his face. "And I imagine the experience of working with another partner is good for you, too. You need to learn to trust more people." She paused to let that sink in. "I may be relatively new to this, but I got where I am because I'm good. Got it? So, if you don't think you can trust me..."

"I didn't… I mean… I..." Frank let out a breath. "Right. Message received. You can take care of yourself."

Kara regarded him for a moment, then gave him a small smile. "That's not to say back up isn't appreciated." She spread her arms and twirled around. "So, how do I look? Good enough to pass for a teenaged girl looking for a lot of alcohol and a rollicking good time?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Your use of the word rollicking is seriously not helping with the trust issue. Ya get 'dat, right?"

Kara reached up and patted him on the cheek. "Yup. An' you're just gonna hafta live with it, big brother." She winked at him then straightened up. "Are we good?"

"Yeah," Frank said, nodding. "You've given me a lot to think about, but we're good." He tilted his head toward the door. "Let's go party."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank had to hand it to Kara. Once they had gotten to the farm where the party was being held, she had blended right in with the crowd, disappearing so quickly he hadn't seen her go. After an hour or so, she had wandered over to the bonfire where he stood with Matt and a few of the regular gamers from the store, her gait unsteady, but her eyes still clear under the ungodly amount of makeup she wore. To make sure she really was just playing drunk, he played up the overprotective brother act and was rewarded by a truly impressive storm of swearing and rude gestures. Some of her phrases were quite creative, and he knew he'd have to compliment her on them later. Finally he gave her the finger, then popped open a can of beer and took a swig. She stuck her tongue out at him and turned away, heading back into the crowd.

As he stood there watching her leave, Randy ambled over to them, a red plastic cup held carefully in his left hand. His eyes followed Kara's slightly swaying form as she stormed off. A slow smile formed on his face.

"Nice," he said, drawing the word out. He took a long drink from the cup. "You don't see many of _those_ around here."

"Those?" The redness was just starting to fade from Matt's face from listening to the argument and his eyebrows went up a notch. "Those what?"

The smile on Randy's face grew predatory. He lifted a hand toward Matt's cheek and patted it in a condescending manner. "You're so innocent," he said. "It would be cute if it wasn't so sad and pathetic." He took another gulp of his drink, grimacing slightly as he swallowed, then moved his hand to clap Matt on the shoulder. "Let me educate you, my innocent friend. Girls like that," he nodded in the direction Kara had gone, "are a frat boy's wet dream."

The gamers looked at each other. One of them coughed uncomfortably and tapped the other with his elbow before walking off into the darkness. Matt was left standing there alone, Randy standing between him and Frank, his eyes widening and the pink flush spreading back across his face. He glanced sideways in Frank' s direction and cleared his throat. "Uh, Randy, I wouldn't..."

"No," Randy agreed, "_you_ wouldn't. But _I_ would." He clapped Matt on the shoulder again. "She's a rebel. Get a couple more drinks into her, and she'll do… Anything. You. Want."

Matt swallowed and tried again. "Randy, you really need to..."

"What I need is to get my hands on her… assets." He raised the cup to his mouth again, and took another drink. "That's what I really need."

Frank's hand shot out and grabbed Randy by the collar, jerking him off his feet and sending the cup spinning to the ground. He held the boy like that for a moment before pulling him close to ensure his words would be heard over the noise of the party. "Leave. Her. Alone." From the corner of his eye, he saw Matt move closer, his hands held out in front of him, obviously unsure if he should grab Randy or Frank.

Randy blinked a few times, trying to loosen Frank's grip on his shirt. "Hey, Zack, I didn't see you there. Is she yours?" He squirmed. "Lucky man. Maybe another time."

"Not this time. Not any time."

"What's the big deal, man? It's not like she's your sister..." Randy's voice faltered as he took in Matt's frantic nodding and the stony look on Frank's face. "_That's_ your sister?"

Frank just stared at him, tightening his hold on Randy's shirt. He let go abruptly, pushing the younger man away. "Not _that. She._"

Randy pulled his shirt down, and gave Frank a tight smile. "Okay, hands off then. No problem. Sorry, man, I didn't know, so no harm, no foul, right? I'll just go find me someone else to keep me warm tonight." He turned to Matt. "You coming?" When Matt shook his head, Randy shrugged, saluted Frank with a slightly shaking hand, then turned and walked off in the opposite direction, his face pale in the flickering light of the bonfire.

Frank shook his head and put the can of beer to his lips. "Douche," he muttered, and then took a drink.

Matt looked sideways at him, then turned to watch Randy disappear into the crowd. He let out a long breath. "He's not that bad. It's mostly just talk with him."

"Really." Frank kept his voice flat. "And you know this how?"

"He's my cousin." Matt shrugged. "We grew up together."

"You have my sympathies." He took another swig of beer, his eyes scanning what he could see of the crowd behind the fire's light, trying to find Kara and settling for finding Randy talking with another girl who didn't look nearly as intoxicated as Kara had been pretending to be. "Let me guess, rough childhood, heart of gold under all the swagger?"

Matt shrugged and looked down. "Not really. He's just less of an asshole than he makes himself out to be." He kicked at the ground.

Frank turned to look at him. "Matt, why are you here?"

"What?" The boy's expression showed he didn't quite understand what Frank meant.

"I'm here because my dad's making me keep an eye on_ her_." Frank gestured at the crowd with the can of beer. "You're not drinkin'. You're not talkin' to no one. Why the hell did you even come?"

Another shrug. "I'm on the team. I have to be here."

Frank gave him a long look, then shook his head. "Stupid reason to be somewhere you don't want to be." From the darkness on the other side of the bonfire, he heard Kara's voice ring out, telling someone there should be music so people could dance. He let out a breath. "I've had enough of this. I'm outta here." He poured the rest of the beer on the ground and crumpled the can between his hands.

"What about your sister?" There was a note of concern in his voice. "I thought you had to keep an eye on her?"

Frank shrugged. "She keeps telling me she can take care of herself," he said, "so I'm going to let her." Then he turned and walked off into the darkness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rather than go back to the apartment, Frank headed to Quest Star to finish up some work on the new website he was putting together for the store. Integrating the online payment module was proving more difficult that he had thought it would, and he was hoping to have it working seamlessly before the weekend was over. The coding wasn't complicated, but there was obviously one minor syntax error that was causing the program to crash part way through a transaction, and it would be easier to find it when the store was empty, and he could be certain of not being interrupted. He turned on the computer in Chuck's office, brought up the site in code view, and settled in to read each line character by character.

He hadn't been there long when he heard a key in the front door's lock. Instinctively, he stilled, knowing that any motion would draw attention to his presence.

"I'll have them for you next week." It was a man's voice. "The new kid took more training time than I wanted." A long pause. "Yes. Indistinguishable. You have my word." The key turned in the lock again then heavy footsteps came toward the counter, slowing as they approached the office. "Chuck?"

Frank stayed at the computer, keeping his eyes locked on the screen in front of him as the footsteps grew closer. The reflection in the monitor showed a heavy-set white man, looking to be about five-ten or so and probably in his late thirties or early forties with dark hair and nondescript features. His expression hardened as he stepped into the office.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I could probably ask you the same question," Frank said, putting an edge in his voice.

The man's eyes moved to the computer screen, his shoulders relaxing. "Oh, you're Chuck's design guy. Zeke?"

"Zack." He stared at the man, keeping his face still.

"Call me Bob," the man said. He jerked his head toward the back of the store. "I'm the tenant. Chuck says good things about your work."

Frank snorted. "Chuck's easily impressed."

"Really?" Bob shifted so most of his weight was on his left leg, the cell phone he had been speaking into earlier held lightly in his left hand. "He that clueless or are you that good?"

"Both."

Bob laughed. "He showed me those badges you made for the staff. They were pretty good."

"They were crap." Frank shrugged. "With the right software I could've made Chuck an ID proving he worked for the FBI that an agent wouldn't have questioned ."

"Really." This time it wasn't a question.

Frank stared back, his face expressionless.

"Now that's something I'd be interested in seeing." Bob reached over Frank's arm and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the desk. He shoved the phone into his pocket, moved the pen to his left hand, and scribbled a number on the paper. "Tell you what. When you make one of those IDs, text me a picture of it. If I like what I see, I might be able to offer you a job. I'm always on the lookout for good… designers." The cell phone rang, and he put it to his ear. "Give me a sec, okay?" He looked at Frank. "Nice to meet you, Zack." Then he walked out of the office toward the door at the back of the store.

Frank let out a deep breath, then grabbed his own phone from his back pocket. He opened a message screen, scrolled down to the contact labeled 'Dad', and typed one word in the blank field.

_Contact._


	8. First Action

Thanks to Max2013, Caranth, Zenfrodo, and Guest.

* * *

For the first week after being approached by Bob, the door at the back of the comic book store remained locked and out of bounds. While Bob had been impressed with the 'fake' FBI badge, he told Frank he would need a few more samples of his work before allowing him access to the room. Accordingly, Frank provided badges from Interpol, the Internal Revenue Service, and, as a joke, the Village Centre Cinemas in town.

The invitation to enter came one night when the store was closing early due to a game tournament with a store a few towns away. As he had no intention of going, Frank offered to close up so Chuck could travel with the guys who were playing. When the owner gave him a puzzled look and thanked him, Frank snorted. "It's the only way I'll know it was done right. Getting ready for this thing has made you guys completely useless. Do you even know if anyone bought anything today?"

"Uh..." Chuck thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, no clue, but it's all good. We'll make more money tomorrow. The guys are always feel the need to buy more stuff after one of these events. I won't complain." He grinned.

Frank looked up at the ceiling, his hands open in front of his chest, and let out a long breath. Then closed his eyes and lowered his hands. "You people are pathetic."

When he opened his eyes, Chuck was still grinning at him. "But you have to admit, we know how to have fun. Want to come? Jack has room for one more in his car." When there was no answer, he continued. "Can't say I didn't try." The grin subsided a bit. "Seriously though, Zack, thanks for offering to close. The tournaments work better when we all get there together."

He was just about to turn off the lights in the store when he heard the sound of a lock turning. Senses tingling, he turned, trying to appear casual, and looked over his shoulder. Bob was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his barrel-shaped chest.

"Good ears." The man cocked an eyebrow. "Might almost think you were used to being caught out at… things."

Frank shrugged. "Glorious result of a misspent youth."

Bob made a 'Humph' sound. "Good album. You know it?"

"Joan Jett. Why?"

"Not too many kids your age know the good stuff." He pushed himself off the wall and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. Still scanning it, he said to Frank, "Come on. I want to see you do one more thing." He shoved the paper back in his pocket, and turned toward the door, motioning for Frank to follow. He flicked a switch on the wall, illuminating the front section of the room.

Inside were three computers, a scanner, and a laminating machine on a long table. Boxes were stacked up under the table with marks that Frank couldn't decipher. On either side of the table were Ott lights, one or two with magnifiers attached. Several high end digital cameras with powerful telephoto lenses sat on the table's surface. A shelving unit full of supplies hid whatever else might be in the dark room.

Bob indicated a chair in front of the first computer. "Have a seat, kid. I want to watch you do this one. Gives me a better idea of how you work."

_And shows I'm actually the one _doing_ the work and not someone else,_ Frank thought. He sat down at the computer Bob pointed to. "So? What've you got?"

"I'm gonna give you an ID. I want you to make a dup."

Frank shrugged again. "Boring, but if that's what you want. Sure. Nothing more interesting than that?"

Bob snorted. "Start with the basics, okay?"

For the next hour or so, Frank painstakingly duplicated a University of Idaho student ID card. _Randy's_, he noted with distaste. When satisfied the copy was nearly perfect, he made it into a template and started playing, substituting Randy's picture with one of Oscar the Grouch and a few past premiers of the former Soviet Union, changing the anticipated graduation date on each one to reflect the correct time period. Then he made one using a picture of Kara from their first day of training. He had just about finished with this last one when he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

"So, how did you…? Interesting." Bob's voice held a grudging note of respect. "You created a template."

"Why wouldn't you? Doing them one at a time takes too long. And it's how they make the real ones," Frank said, leaning back in the chair. "If you do it element by element, you make mistakes. There's a risk of too much variation. You get a good template and the right materials, and you can bang out as many as you want with almost no effort." He cocked his head to the side. "And I'm a fan of almost no effort."

Bob's eyes narrowed. "So you don't mind sloppy work."

Frank sat up. "'S'not what I said. There's no excuse for sloppy work. If you do it right the first time, it's all cut and paste afterwards." He relaxed back into the chair, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "'Cause there's no reason to work more than you absolutely need to."

The older man regarded him for a long minute, then barked out a laugh. "Punk kids don't know how lucky you've got it with all this technology. When I was in school, all this," he gestured at the computers and the scanner," had to be done by hand."

"And you had to deliver them by walking uphill in the snow in both directions, right?" Frank's voice held a mocking note. "I know, I know. It's my old man's favorite refrain, how easy I've got it. Please. The stuff that makes these," he waved a hand at the screen, "easier to make also makes it easier to get caught."

"Personal experience?" Bob was looking intently at Frank now, and Frank returned his gaze, still leaning back in the chair.

"I plead the fifth," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer.

Bob made a clicking noise with his teeth. "Same shit that makes it easier to get caught, also lets you throw your net wider." He grinned down at Frank. "Makes it more lucrative. And the challenge is part of the fun. That and sticking it to the folks who think they're in charge."

Frank made sure to keep his expression still. Then, slowly, he allowed one of his brother's feral grins to cover his face.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kara sat at her usual table at the coffee shop, waiting for class to let out and someone to join her. Since the party a few weeks before, Carrie's circle of friends had grown exponentially and included the mysterious Jack with the fake ID made by the "new guy in the area." With a minimum of flirting and the promise of a six-pack for himself if he got one for her, Kara had gotten the boy to show off his new possession. A cursory look showed it was good enough to be from the guy they were chasing. A flood of excitement flowed through her as she handed the plastic card – a Michigan driver's license – back to Jack.

"I could use one of those," she said to him, stroking his arm. "Just think how much fun we could have hitting some of the bars in town. Where can I get one?"

Jack guffawed. "Darlin', if _you_ had an ID saying you were twenty-one, they'd know it was fake. You barely look seventeen. Then we'd all get in trouble." He moved his arm out from under her hand and tried to drape it around her shoulders. "Just let ol' Jack take care of you. I'll get you what you need."

Anger bubbling in her veins, Kara stood, letting Jack's elbow crack against the back of her chair. "I prefer to take care of myself. Thanks anyway." She walked away from the table, her inner voice screeching that she had just been very stupid and that letting a comment about how young she looked bother her was an indulgence she couldn't afford. _But_, she thought, _odds are Carrie wouldn't have stood for it either._

A hand reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched from the contact and turned to find a guy in an overly large leather aviator jacket standing behind her.

"So, Carrie, you need an ID?" The guy was taller than she was – not as tall as Frank – but not so tall that she had far to look up to see his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him.

"An' you know my name how?" She drew herself up to her full height, her arms crossed over her chest.

"You're Zack's sister," he said. "I've seen you at the store a few times. And at the party." His eyes flashed briefly then his expression calmed. "It looked like you were having a good time. And it looked like you'd be a fun person to hang out with. I'm Randall."

Kara nodded, trying to loosen the knot of anger in her gut. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks." She snorted. "What, is Zack hiring you guys to watch me now?"

"No." His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket. "Actually, he was pretty specific about my staying far away from you." He gave her a cocky grin, his head tilting to one side. "I'm not real good about following directions."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why does that not surprise me?"

His grin widened. "And it looks like you were talking to one of my customers over there." He nodded over to the cluster of students at the table she had just left.

"Customer?" Kara let her eyes widen. "You mean you're the one Jack got the..." Her voice trailed off as she saw him shake his head.

"Not here," he said. "Maybe I could interest you in a drink? We could talk over what I did for Jack then."

She lowered her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "That might just be the best idea I've heard from anyone since I moved here. When and where?"

Randy took a step back. "You Boston girls are direct, aren't you? I like that." He thought for a moment. "How about tomorrow night? I can meet you here at eight." He pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows. "We can talk. Get to know each other. See if there's anything I can do for you."

Kara smiled up at him. "Don't be late. See you then." She turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You _what_?" The question hissed out from between Frank's teeth.

"Set up an appointment with Randy," Kara said, holding out her arms. "Can you pass the potatoes?"

"And _why_ exactly would you do that?" His hands were clamped the edge of the table, knuckles turning red, then white.

Kara let out a breath, then reached over him for the bowl holding the mashed potatoes. "Because we have an investigation going on. You're working it from your angle, and I'm working it from my angle."

"But..."

Agent Vickers cleared his throat. "I'll take those if you're done with them," he said, gesturing to the blue and white patterned bowl with his chin. "They're quite good." He used the spoon in the bowl to scoop some of the food onto his plate, then turned to Frank. "Having more than one way into this place can only be to our benefit. Is there a problem with Agent Malone's handling of herself so far?"

Frank shook his head. "Sir, it's not _her_ I don't trust." He sighed.

"Really?" Kara asked. "Because you're doing an amazing job of acting like it. Didn't we clear this up already?

"Agent Malone." Vickers's voice held a warning note, his gray eyes hard. He held her gaze for a moment then turned back to Frank. "What is it about this boy that bothers you?"

Frank sat for a moment before answering. "He's arrogant."

Kara started to interrupt, but Vickers held up a hand to stop her. "And?"

"I don't think he's dangerous," Frank said, the words coming slowly from his mouth. "And he's not stupid. I saw some of his work in the lab. It's actually quite good for someone without much experience making false documents." He paused, lips pressed together, then blew out the breath he had been holding. "He's in over his head, and I get the feeling when everything comes crashing down on him people are going to get hurt." He looked at Kara. "I'd rather it not be you."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"I know," he said. "I know you think I'm being the over-protective big brother again, but there's something off about this." He had told them about his encounter with Bob the previous night. "I think… I think there's more to this than just fake IDs. I can't put my finger on it, but..." He growled, then looked at Kara. "Just be careful."

She looked at him for a long moment, her head cocked to one side. "Do you say that a lot?"

Frank's lips quirked. "A bit. Joe could probably give you a dissertation on it."

"If he's like you've described, I can see why you say it to him a lot." She smiled at him. "I'll keep in mind what you said, but I'm still meeting him." She turned to Vickers. "Mind if I take a couple of bottles with me when I go?"

The older man raised an eyebrow at her. "You do realize that according to your current identification, you're only eighteen years old. If you get caught..."

Kara looked at him. "Carrie McAllister get caught? Never." She smiled. "Given what big brother here told me about what he said about me at the party, I figured it would be safer to show up with my own beverage. And some for him, of course. What was it they said during World War II? Loose lips sink ships?"

Vickers nodded. "Good idea. Just be careful."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Buzz_

Frank had almost been asleep when the vibration of his cell phone's silent mode went off. In the darkness, he fumbled for the device on the coffee table, squinting at the sudden brightness when the screen showed a text had been received. With clumsy hands, he got to the messaging application and opened the text.

It was from Bob.

_I like your work and attitude, kid. Just got a big job and need more hands. $20/hr sound good? Let me know ASAP. _

Suddenly wide awake, Frank sent a message back.

_When do I start?_

_Tomorrow. Knock on the door in the morning. – Bob_

He put the phone back on the table with a shaking hand. Things were starting to happen. He let out a long breath and relaxed back onto his pillow. Despite the dark, despite how tired he was, despite the fact it was past midnight, it took him a long time to fall asleep.


	9. Coffee

Thanks to Xenitha, Max2013 (I'm writing as fast as I can, I promise!), Guest, zenfrodo, Caranath, hlahabibty. On a side note: I went in and checked my stats the other day, and three of my stories now have over 10,000 hits! Wow…

* * *

Anna appeared in the living room carrying two plates with pie and ice cream – both of which, Joe noted with satisfaction, were smaller in size than what he currently had, meaning there would be more left for him – and a steaming mug of coffee.

She maneuvered around him and leaned toward Frank who was sitting in the armchair, his eyes distant again. "Hey," she said, waving the mug under his nose. "Coffee. Just the way you like it." She reached out, handed him the mug, then twisted back to take one of the plates off her left arm to pass over to him before taking a seat on the ottoman in front of him.

Joe whistled in approval, the sound cutting off as Kara punched him in the arm. "What was that for?"

Kara glared at him, her eyes like agates. "I'm pretty sure Anna doesn't appreciate being whistled at any more than I appreciate hearing you whistle at another woman."

"What? No." Joe squirmed under her gaze. "I wasn't whistling at her. I was impressed she managed to carry both plates of pie on her arm without dropping them." He looked down at his own now-empty plate with a slight grimace. "That truly would have been a waste. And reminds me I need seconds. Be right back."

Hearing Kara's footstep behind him in the kitchen, he turned, the pie server still in his hand. She regarded him for a second, then perched on the counter next to his plate. "That wasn't very subtle," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Joe struggled to keep his voice at a low murmur.

"What?" Kara's face mirrored the shock in her voice. "Joe, I don't know what you mean."

He turned his head sideways. From the corner of his eye, he could see Anna gently teasing Frank, but getting no reaction from his brother.

"What happened in Moscow?"

Kara sighed. "That part of it," she jerked her head toward the living room, "isn't my story. It's his." She slid off the counter and put her arms around Joe's waist. "And if you want to hear it, you're going to have to be patient. You should know that." Joe could feel her smiling into his chest. "He's _your_ brother, after all."

Joe nodded, then bent down to kiss the top of her head. "I know. Doesn't make it any easier, though." He let out a breath. "Come on. The sooner we get back in there, the sooner I can browbeat him into actually talking." He let go of her and reached back out for the pie server.

"I thought you wanted to hear the story?" Kara's head tilted to one side as she watched him cut another huge piece of the rapidly diminishing apple pie.

"Of course I do. But this pie is amazing," he said. "And Anna is expecting me to eat more of it. I don't want to disappoint her after all the work she put into making it."

Kara laughed, wrapped her hands around his bicep, and dragged him back into the living room.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are you sure you're ready to talk about this?"

Frank started, Anna's soft whisper breaking into his thoughts. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you were really ready to talk about this." Anna sat cross-legged on the ottoman, her elbows resting on her knees, her dessert behind her on the cushion. "If I had to guess, I'd say the answer is no."

"Is that this semester's psychology class talking?" Frank tried to smile as he spoke, the expression looking more like a grimace.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then put a hand on one of his knees. "No, it's the psychology of you. Your coffee is on the floor, and the plate is on the table. I know you like my pie as much as Joe does. Something happened in Moscow that still troubles you."

He put his hand over her and squeezed it gently. "I thought I was past it. I'd almost forgotten about it. And then I ended up in the hospital. Five years of memories came back pretty much all at once." He let out a breath. "Some things… stood out more than others."

"We can go if you want." She looked down at their hands, then twisted hers around, intertwining their fingers. "I'm sure Joe will understand."

Frank raised an eyebrow at her. "Inspector Bloodhound? No. Now that he knows something happened, he's not going to rest until he gets the whole story."

"Kara could tell him," Anna said, her head dipping down toward her chest.

"You think I should tell him, don't you? That's why you're not looking at me."

Anna's chin lifted. "If you're truly not ready, then no, you shouldn't, but..."

He swallowed. "But what?"

"But I think you are ready. And you're trying to protect Joe from something. And that _is_ from this semester's psychology class." She gave him a shy smile. "You do the same thing to me. You don't tell me things you need to get off your chest if you think it will upset me. On the one hand, it's sweet. On the other, it's not good for your overall mental health." Her hand squeezed his again. "If you keep too much bottled up inside, it's going to explode out at some point. Probably when you least want it to."

Frank closed his eyes and bent his forehead down to their joined hands. "Yeah," he breathed out. "I can think of a few times that's happened over the past handful of years. Joe's taken the brunt of it. And Chet."

"Well, that makes sense. They're the people closest to you." He could hear the teasing note in her voice.

"Only up until now," he said, letting go of her hand and scooping her up into his lap so he could kiss her.

"Please." Joe's voice boomed from the edge of the sofa. "Have some compassion for my sensibilities. I'm trying to eat here."

Kara chuckled and gently tapped the back of Joe's head. "I've never seen anything else stop that from happening. Why should this be any different?"

"'Cause he's my brother," Joe said, his mouth full of pie. "It's just gross."

Frank gently lowered Anna back onto the ottoman. "Pot calling the kettle black, Joe. Didn't either Mom or Aunt Gertrude teach you not to talk with your mouthful."

Joe swallowed and thought for a moment. "I think they tried."

"Obviously unsuccessfully," Kara muttered.

He glared at her. "So, I'm all settled in with my dessert. Frank has his caffeine fix. Is it story time?"

Anna looked up at Frank, her head cocked to one side. "Is it?"

For a long moment, he simply looked at her, then he nodded. "Yeah. Kara needs to go first. The case started on her end. I didn't come in until later." Then he picked up his coffee and waited for the questions he knew would come.


	10. Manuevers

Thanks to zenfrodo, max2013, Xenitha, hlahabibty, Caranath, Liz, Guest (sorry, limited Frank whump in this one; I'm trying not to damage the boys too much.) Apologies for the wait; writer's block hit hard...

* * *

Frank got to the comic book store at seven. Sleep had not come easily after Bob's text, but even only having dozed off and on, he felt alert and wide awake. Bob hadn't said what time to show up at the store, so he finally gave up on getting any real rest, got up, and dressed.

As Quest Star wasn't set to open for several more hours, he let himself in with the key he had gotten from Chuck the night before. Once inside, he relocked the door and headed toward the office to leave it on the desk, shivering slightly in the store's cool temperature and realizing the heat probably wouldn't kick in until just before opening.

_Should have worn a sweater,_ he thought, taking a gulp of his coffee. _But it's probably not in character. __I can't see Zack in a cardigan..__._ The thought broke off as he heard the back door creaking open.

"Eager beaver, aren't you?" Bob's voice boomed out in the empty store, echoing off the back walls. "I thought you youngsters didn't rise before noon? I wasn't expecting you for at least another couple of hours."

Frank shrugged. "Sister was driving me apeshit. Figured it was safer to get out of the house than see what happened if I stayed."

Bob choked out a laugh. "Older or younger?"

"Younger."

The man nodded. "I got one of them, too. Drove me crazy when we were kids. We get on all right now. Things change when you get older." He smiled when Frank snorted in disbelief, then pushed the door open and beckoned him inside. "Come on. Let me show you what we're going to be doing."

The table in the back held a handful of brown paper-wrapped parcels. Bob took a penknife, slit the string around the first package, glanced at it, then picked up the top item and placed it in Frank's open hand.

"What's this?" The side facing him looked and felt like thin cardboard. The side touching his palm felt vaguely plastic-like. When he turned it over, his eyes widened.

"You recognize it." The older man's voice held a note of amusement.

"Yeah." Frank swallowed. The other side of the cardboard was coated with a textured dark blue covering. A dark blue the exact same color as the passport in his desk drawer back home in Bayport.

"And?" The amused tone now held a hint of challenge.

Frank looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "And…" He let out a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in his hand. "And I think if you want _these_ to come out looking like they're the real thing, you're going to have to be paying me more than twenty an hour."

Bob regarded him in silence for a long moment, his tongue running over his front teeth behind closed lips. A second later booming laugh broke out from his mouth. "I _knew_ I liked you, kid." He slapped one hand on the table in front of him, indicating Frank should sit down. "Come on. Let's negotiate."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the end, Frank managed to get him up to thirty-five dollars an hour. He knew he could have haggled for more, but he needed Bob to keep believing he was what he purported to be – a punk kid who was good with computers; nothing more, nothing less – so he could find out why the man had branched out from fake licenses to something that was potentially far more dangerous.

"So, now that we've got that all settled," Bob said, standing up from the table and reaching for one of the other parcels, "let's get started."

"Now?" Frank widened his eyes just enough to look surprised. "Okay. I was gonna go get some breakfast." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Or lunch, at this point, but I guess… Your client needs 'em that fast? Who else is working on this? Randy? Or just me?"

The man stopped part-way through unwrapping the package in his hand. His expression stilled, and his eyes narrowed. "You ask a lot of questions, Zack. I'm hiring _you _to make these IDs, and that's all you need to know. You got a problem with that?"

Frank put his hands up in front of him. "No problem at all, boss. If it's just me that's fine. It's actually better. I work better without someone else stickin' their face in where it don't belong. And I don't like the guy." He shrugged his shoulders. "I just need to know how good you want them to be." He let out a breath. "Client needs 'em tomorrow, they're gonna look like crap. He needs 'em next week..." He shrugged his shoulders and let the rest of the sentence hang.

Bob nodded. "You got two weeks. I want them indistinguishable from the real thing. Understand?"

Frank grinned. "For what you're paying me? They'll be perfect." He paused for a moment. "Is asking why they need 'em a question I'm not supposed to ask?"

The man's face hardened. "We don't ask questions. We just provide the merchandise. Not following that basic rule can lead to… problems."

Frank raised his hands in front of his chest. "Message received. Loud and clear. Make good product. Don't ask questions. Got it." He took a box cutter from his back pocket, grabbed the package closest to him, and sliced open the wrapper. "Well, you want me to get started now, I'll get started now."

Bob eyed him curiously. "You always carry one of those around with you?"

"Be prepared," Frank said, nodding his head. "It's the Boy Scout motto." He stopped, his eyes going distant for a moment. "Someone did a song about that. My old man used to sing it when I was a kid."

The smile reappeared on Bob's face, crinkling around his eyes. "Tom Lehrer. The man's a genius. I'll bring in some of his stuff so we can listen to it while we work. You'll appreciate the math song. It's brilliant. You don't mind music while you work?"

Frank shook his head and reached out to one of the remaining parcels on the table, his heart pounding in his chest. _Well, dinner tonight's going to be interesting..._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was late afternoon when Frank got back to the apartment. It was empty, the lights off and no sound emanating from either of the bedrooms. Exhausted, he slid onto the sofa, tilting his head back and holding one hand over his eyes in an effort to slow down the thoughts racing through his mind. It didn't work. The conversation with Bob and the work he had started kept looping through his head. He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and eyes distant, his fingers tapping patterns on the coffee table in front of him.

Without realizing what he was doing, he stood and started pacing through the apartment, stopping at the sink to empty the dish drain and pausing in the living room to straighten the papers on the end table before grabbing a cloth from the hall closet and starting to dust everything within reach. From there he moved to cleaning, his hands methodically washing surfaces as his mind broke down the information he had learned over the course of the day and categorizing it.

By the time Vickers and Kara returned, he had run out of things to clean and had moved on to vacuuming. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed they had walked in until he heard Vickers shouting at him.

"Jesus Christ, Zack. What the hell is going on here?" The older agent stood in the doorway, his arms full of grocery bags with Kara slightly behind him, her mouth open.

She wriggled around Vickers and moved to the sofa, her eyes wide as she took in the state of the apartment. "I'm pretty sure this place has never been this clean. Ever." She swallowed and turned to Frank. "Are you feeling all right?"

Vickers took one look at Frank's face, shoved the door closed with his foot and thrust a bag in Frank's direction. "Take this," he said, then he moved to the counter and turned the radio on to a classic rock station. Finally, he settled the other bag on the counter with a thump. "Get the milk in the fridge, and start talking. What happened?"

Frank took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion now that he had stopped moving. Slowly he started unloading the paper bag, filling the two agents in on what had happened as he mechanically placed things in the refrigerator and cabinets. There was silence when he finished.

"He's moved on to something bigger," Kara's voice was barely above a whisper. "This isn't his MO at all. Licenses, state IDs, that sort of thing. Stay somewhere a few weeks, then move on. What's he playing at?"

Vickers's jaw was set. He looked at Frank, his eyes worried. "How deep are you in, son?"

"Not deep enough." Frank sighed. "There's definitely something else going on, but I'm not sure what it is."

Kara looked at him, her gaze sharp. "Is Randy in on it? I'm meeting him tonight. I can try to get some information out of him."

"What? No." Frank swayed slightly, caught himself, then rubbed his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. "That's tonight? Do you want me to go as backup?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What self-respecting teenaged rebel lets her older brother tag along on a date?" When all he did was blink at her, she let out a breath. "No. For starters, I actually want to try and get information out of him, and secondly, you look like you're going to fall asleep standing up. Why don't you go crash in my room? When I get back, I'll fill you in on what I find."

He looked at Vickers. "Sir?"

The man nodded. "You go rest. We'll reconvene when Agent Malone returns."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kara sat sprawled at one of the few booths in the coffee shop waiting for Randy, her back against the back wall of the building, her feet balanced carefully on the oversized sling backpack holding the beer she had appropriated for the meeting. The coffee shop was quieter than she had ever seen it. _Must get less traffic in the evenings_, she thought as she dragged her hand across her forehead in an attempt to dislodge a strand of hair from her eyelashes. The tips of her hair slid through her fingers. _I need to re-dye them. They're starting to fade._

Movement from the store's entrance caught her eye, and, continuing to look like she was engrossed by her hair, she watched Randy scanning the room for her. Even with her eyes down, she knew the moment he spotted her; his shoulders went back, the expression on his face grew haughty, and his stride lengthened.

_Insecure,_ she thought. _The macho lady killer stuff is just an act. __Or mostly..__._ She frowned, wondering who he was trying to impress. _The other guys in shop? Matt? Bob? __More like everyone..._ Her eyebrows drew together. That had to be it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Randy's voice had a smooth note to it, like he was trying to imitate a newscaster.

She smiled up at him and leaned forward, giving him a decent, but not extensive, look at her cleavage. "Just wondering if you were gonna show. Some guys tend to be all talk, no action. Ya know? Wasn't sure which group you fell into."

He grinned at her and pushed his hair off his forehead. "I guess that depends on whether this meeting is business or pleasure."

"It can't be both?" Kara tilted her head to one side and looked up at him through her lashes. "No reason why it can't start off as one and end as the other."

"You really are my kind of girl," he said. "Shall we find somewhere more private?"

Kara took her legs off backpack, making the bottles to clink together as she did so. Her lips quirked into a smile when she saw him try to stifle a sudden surprised expression. "I brought something to liven up the party. Didn't think you'd mind." She undulated off of the bench, then made a show of bending over to hoist the backpack to her shoulder. "After you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After a few beers downed in quick succession, Randy's words started coming faster, and Kara was fairly sure he was no longer able to be as careful about what he was saying. Surprisingly, he hadn't tried anything with her past throwing an arm around her shoulders when they sat down on the sofa in his apartment. _Yet_, she thought. _Just because he hasn't doesn't mean he won't._

"So," she said, speaking carefully to give the impression she was getting tipsy, "is it time for business yet?"

He tried to raise and eyebrow at her and instead leaned his chin forward into the palm of his hand. "Boy, you _are_ direct." His words had a somewhat studied precision. "And here I thought we were just here to have fun."

"Fun has being… has been had, but I'm going to need to get home soon." She put on a pout. "You think my brother's bad? You haven't met my father." She leaned into him. "I get home too late, he won't let me out again. And you seem like someone I'd like to get to know better. And maybe go places with." She made sure to emphasize the last five words.

Randy's cheeks flushed, and he sat up straighter, removing his arm from her shoulder. "Well, then. Business time it is. Tell me exactly what you're looking for."

"Why don't you tell me what you offer?"

He looked at her. "Depends on what you want to do."

_What I want is for him to come right out and give me a price for an ID. Without__ this __being__ entrapment_, shethought_._ "I _want_ to go back to Boston, but that ain't happening any time soon." She let out a breath. "So, since I'm stuck here for the time being… I want to have fun. Go out dancing. Drinking. Be with people." She pushed her face closer to his. "And to do that I need something that gets me into those places. Is that, or is it not, something you can help me with? If not, I'll take my beer and be on my way."

He blinked at her a few times, trying to focus his eyes. Their noses were almost touching, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Turning his head to the side, he slumped back against the sofa cushion. "It'll be three hundred dollars." The words were a whisper.

Kara also leaned back, then took another sip of her beer. "I didn't quite get that. How much?"

"Three hundred. He usually charges three-fifty." Randy swallowed. "But I'll do you a favor since you brought the beer."

"Really?" Kara forced her voice up into an excited squeak. "That'd be so awesome!" She threw her arms around Randy and gave him a squeezing hug. "Oh, I can't wait! You totally rock!"

He gave her a strained smile. "What did you say your curfew was again?"

"I didn't," she said, "but I'm sure I still have..." He held out his phone and showed her the time. "Shit! I have to go." She put her beer down, pulled a small bottle of mouthwash from the backpack, and swished it in her mouth before swallowing it with a grimace. Then she pulled the backpack to her shoulder and started walking, stopping when she reached the door. "Oh, when do you need the money?"

"Quicker is better." His face had a red cast to it. "And I'll need to get a picture of you."

"I can get it for you tomorrow. Will that work?"

He nodded. "I can meet you in the coffee shop in the afternoon."

"Great! See you then!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"How did it go?"

The voice was so quiet, Kara wasn't sure Frank had actually spoken. "Why are you still awake? And where's Agent Vickers?"

There was a yawn and the noise of blankets shifting. "Burst pipes on the third floor. He's not sure when he'll be back." Another yawn. "And I'm not _still_ up. I slept in your room for a bit then took a shower and came out here. Figured you'd want your bed back."

She giggled, for a moment feeling more like Carrie than Kara. "Good call on that one." She lowed the backpack to the floor. "Surprisingly well," she said, rubbing her shoulder. "I got him to quote me a price without asking him directly what it was for." She could see Frank nod in the shadows.

"Good call." He let out a breath, and she could tell there was something else on his mind.

"Anything else you want to know?"

There was another breath, then, "Did he try anything?"

For a moment, Kara felt a flash of anger. _And there's the protectiveness again. I can handle myself._ Then she calmed down. Given what Frank had told her about Randy's behavior at the bonfire, it was a valid question.

"Kara?"

"No, he didn't. He was pretty much the frat boy version of a perfect gentleman."

"Meaning?" The word drawled out into another yawn.

"Meaning he looked with appreciation but didn't touch." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of shocked the hell out of me. I gave him opportunities, but..." She let the sentence hang.

"Good," Frank murmured. She could hear him reclining back onto his pillow. "Now I don't have to pretend to try to kill him tomorrow..." The words faded off as Frank's breathing deepened.

Quietly, Kara tiptoed around the couch to the hallway and her room. Once there she looked back toward the living room and rolled her eyes. "Big brothers," she said, shaking her head.


	11. Fire Fight

Thanks to Xenitha, max2013, zenfrodo, Caranath for the reviews. Onward!

* * *

The first batch of false passports were finished just as the deadline assigned by the client was about to expire. Frank fidgeted, his nerves truly on edge, as Bob went over them with a fine-tooth comb, the man's eyes scanning each page three or four times before moving on to the next, until finally closed the booklet and placed on the table. For the past two weeks, he had been watching over Frank's shoulder as the books began taking shape, reminding Frank almost continually of the value of the job to the business, and the need for care in the creation of the documents. Frank went back to the apartment each night with a pounding headache and cramped hands.

And, surprisingly, a burning need to talk to his brother.

Decompressing each night at the dining room with Vickers and Malone was useful. Talking with the agents about Kara's end of the investigation felt good – both took his suggestions seriously, and Vickers had access to technology Frank had only dreamed about until that point – but running through the day's events with them wasn't the same as talking with someone he didn't have to explain his thinking to. It wasn't like he and Joe hadn't ever been apart before. They went to different colleges, had each investigated things on their own or with their father, but for some reason this was different.

Several times a day, Frank found himself carrying on imaginary conversations with his brother. He could hear Joe's voice in his ear commenting on the way he was standing or making cracks about how geeky the whole thing was. _ I mean, come on 'bro, you're playing with computers at the back of a comic book store. How much more _you_ could this operation possibly be?_ Several times, he had to stop himself from either laughing or answering back, finding himself shooting scowls at anyone who gave him a questioning look, and finally coming to the realization if this type of investigation was going to be part of his life from now on, he was going to need to find a way to talk to the folks at home at home on a regular basis. But it was something he needed to focus on later.

Because now was the moment of truth.

"So?" At this point, Frank was almost sweating, his fingers curling into tight fists.

Bob kept his eyes on the booklets in his hands, the expression on his face unreadable. "They all like this?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah." He cleared his throat, then kept talking, nerves making the words spill out more quickly than they otherwise would. "I did like I did with the IDs. Made a template and just changed the information when I needed to." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. "Still don't get why the guy needed passports with five different names." He forced a cocky smile he didn't really feel onto his face. "Must be trying to avoid a lot of women, eh?"

The only response was a glare.

"I know. Stop asking questions." Frank moved his gaze to the floor. "Sorry."

A grunt, then a slapping noise as the document landed on the table. "Don't know why I'm surprised." Contempt shot through the words.

Feelings of panic spiked through Frank, triggering a bolt of adrenalin that made his body want to escape the store at terminal velocity. From the research Malone and Vickers had shared with him, he knew Bob could be ruthless when cornered, even if he hadn't seen much of it personally. Up until now, the man had been genial, treating Frank like a nephew he hadn't seen in a few years, but the stories had been harrowing. Still keeping his head down, he took a deep breath into his lungs, holding it a few seconds before letting it out, and forced his fists to unclench.

"Abso-bloody-lutely perfect." This time the words held a note of pride.

"What?" Frank's eyes shot up, his face betraying the shock he felt at this change in tone.

Bob was grinning. "This'll fool anyone but a real government docs guy. I knew hiring you was a good call."

"What'd I screw up?" Oddly, Frank felt a flash of disappointment. The thought, _Those things should fool _anyone, flitted across his mind for a moment before he realized what he had been thinking. _Man. Too much time in Zack's head. __It's not like _I _need Bob's approval. __I need this to be over soon…_

"Nothin'," Bob was saying. "The materials aren't quite right. But that ain't your fault. It's what the client brought for us to use. Close enough, but not one hundred percent."

"Close enough for government work?" Frank mumbled, feeling the adrenalin dissipate and leaving him breathless.

Bob laughed and reached over to punch him lightly on the shoulder. "Love your sense of humor, kid. Make sure you hold onto that as you get older. It makes a lot of things easier." A knock sounded at the back door, and Bob straightened up, his face taking on a more business-like expression as he walked over and opened it.

Frank instantly recognized the man who walked in as the one from the passport photos – mid-thirties, blond hair a few shades darker than Joe's, blue eyes more like ice than the sapphire of his brother's. In his jeans, weathered work coat, and faded baseball cap he looked like the perfect mid-west farm boy.

"Who's this?" The scowl on his face matched the tone of his voice. "Where's the merchandise?"

Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again after seeing the look on Bob's face.

Bob gestured to the passports on the table. "It's all right there." He indicated Frank with a nod of his head. "And _this_ is the guy who made them."

The man nodded and reached for the documents. With a start, Frank realized he didn't know the man's real name. It was highly unlikely he'd used it on any of the false passports, and he found himself wondering if he'd even given it to Bob. He made a mental note to try and lift a fingerprint from… something, then mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it before. Finally, the man grunted and tucked the booklets into a pocket sewn into the lining of his coat. From another pocket, he pulled out an envelope that he handed to Bob.

"I need two more. Same price as before."

Bob opened the envelope and rifled through its contents. Sticking up from the stack of bills were two more tiny snapshots. "Not that I'm complaining, but you've overpaid us."

The man was pulling another packet from the back pocket of his jeans. "I need them tomorrow morning at eight."

Frank sucked in a breath. "Those took me…"

"_Zack_." The tone in Bob's voice said 'Shut up' as clearly as the words would have. "We'll have them for you." He held out a hand to the man who placed the packet in it. "We'll see you tomorrow." When the guy had left, he turned to Frank. "We never turn down a job that pays this well. We've got the templates done. You can do it." He rubbed his chin. "I know you two don't like each other, but I'll call Randy in to help when his classes are over. Between the three of us, we'll do it." He looked at Frank and cocked his head to the side. "All right, hot shot. Get to work."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Have you even called Aunt Tracy this week?"

Kara was halfway down the hall on her way to Randy's room when she heard the raised voices.

Since getting the fake ID, she had taken to hanging out with him in the mornings before his classes. They had been out to bars a few times, and the ID had worked perfectly at each one. If it hadn't been for the passports Frank was working on, she and Vickers would have raided the operation already, but they had all agreed something bigger might be happening now and were taking the chance Bob wouldn't disappear in the middle of it.

She slowed her walk, trying to make out which door it was coming from and the identity of the speakers.

"I'm sorry, why are we having this conversation?" That was Randy, his voice harder to hear.

"Because she's called me three times in the past two days looking for you!" It was Matt's voice.

Kara held her breath. She'd never heard the mild-mannered basketball player raise his voice. To anyone.

"She's your _mother_, you idiot. The one helping to pay for your college education? I can't believe you."

"Who put the stick up your ass, Matt?" Randy sounded both annoyed and amused.

"You did." There was a thud and an exclamation of surprise.

"What the hell?!" Randy's voice came from the floor.

"I saw the ID, Randy. Does Aunt Tracy know that's what you're doing?"

There were scrabbling noises. "I don't know what..."

"Zack's sister. I saw her..." Kara inched closer to the door, trying to hear more of what was happening. The volume of Matt's voice was dropping, and she was starting to miss words. "… bragging that _you_ had done it."

"Some of us weren't lucky enough to get scholarships. Some of us have to work to get money for college." A note of bitterness overlaid Randy's words.

"I work." Matt's voice had a note of steel in it. "I work hard. I keep my grades up. I go to practice until late at night. I play on the team. I work at Quest Star."

Randy snorted. It was a noise Kara recognized immediately. "Earning minimum wage. I'm getting almost twenty dollars an hour for what I do. And I'm good at it." He laughed without humor. "So, this is new. Me being the successful one? Usually that's your role."

Matt made a noise that sounded like he had been punched in the stomach. "Is that what this is? Which of us is more successful?" His voice sounded breathless. "What does that matter? We're family."

"It matters because _you_ didn't get compared to _me _the whole time we were growing up." Randy's voice got louder. "_I_ got compared to _you_. 'Why can't you be more like your cousin?' 'Matt's so good at fill in the blank!'"

A cell phone ring tone sounded from the room.

"Yeah?" Randy paused, listening. "Nah, I'm not doing anything important. I'll be right down." Kara heard the jingling of keys. "Sorry, _'cuz_. I'm needed. At work." She heard his footsteps approaching the door and moved two door down, sliding behind the swinging door of the bathroom to hide. Cracking the door open a hair, she watched as Randy stomped out of the room, Matt reaching out to grab his arm.

"Randy!" He stood in the hall, watching the shorter boy walk away, then took a breath. "Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow." He pulled the hood of his team jacket over his head and headed down the hall in the same direction his cousin had gone.

Kara slipped out of the bathroom. Maybe it was time to get Randy out of there. _I can talk to him about giving evidence for us. If he's cooperative…_ She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Vickers's number. "Dad? You got a minute? I'm coming home. It's important."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank sprinted down the street, cell phone at his ear. "Come on. Answer. Answer." Finally the phone clicked on. "Bob? It's Zack. I'm sorry. I overslept."

After having spent the entire day and most of the night working on – and finishing – the two new documents, Frank had practically crawled back to the apartment for a few hours sleep. While the new passports weren't quite as polished as the original five, Bob had said they would pass muster. The one positive thing about the day was that Frank had managed to pull a decent fingerprint off the back of one of the pictures before bonding it to the stationery when Bob had gone on a coffee run.

"Hold on." There was the sound of the phone being placed on a surface none too gently. "I don't know who you are, and I sure as hell don't care."

"He's done working for you." Another voice, fainter and vaguely familiar.

"What are you, his lawyer? Look, kid, I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I need you to leave." Through the speaker came a faint thud, a sound like a distant car door slamming shut. "Get out. _Now._" Bob was practically growling.

There was a beep, and the line went dead. Frank hit the redial button, this time getting sent straight to voicemail. "I'm in the parking lot." He gulped some air, his legs still pumping. "ETA is less than…"

His words were cut off by an ear-shattering noise, like thunder splitting the air, followed immediately by a percussive wave that sent him flying back, his head cracking against the driver's side mirror of the truck behind him. Blackness threatening to engulf him, he fought to stay conscious, trying to lift his arms up to protect his face from the glass that had started splintering off the store's windows.

For a few … seconds? minutes? – he was unsure how much time had elapsed – he sat slumped on the ground against the truck, a wet trickle running down the back of his neck, trying to clear his head. Still dazed, his left hand started sifting through the debris and shards of glass on the ground searching for the cell phone he had been holding until he made out the wail of sirens through the ringing in his ears. Someone had already called emergency services. Which meant he didn't have to; he could go see what had happened and if anyone needed help.

Using the truck as leverage, Frank struggled to his feet, feeling the muscles in his back and ribs complain violently as he forced them to move. He shook his head, trying to focus both his eyes and his thoughts, and stumbled toward what was left of the comic book store. Bob had been in there, waiting for their client with at least one other person, and it was possible some of Quest Star's employees might have come in early as well.

_Jesus… Chuck. _The owner had a habit of coming in early with coffee and doughnuts for the morning shift. _Please, G-d, let him not be here. _Throat dry and heart pounding, Frank staggered toward the blown-off door, dust, debris, and shreds of paper everywhere.

He stopped at the entrance, frozen. The store looked like a miniature war zone, small fires burning where the shelves of comics had been, shards of gray plastic tables sticking out of the walls that still stood. The back room was a smoking hole. A brightly colored scrap of cloth – was that an arm sticking out of it? – caught his attention, and he turned toward it, losing his footing as he did.

"No." Frank retched and doubled over, the coffee he had for breakfast coming back up. When his stomach was empty, he straightened, his head spinning, the room tilting.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder, keeping him from falling on his face and dragging him back outside. People were pouring out of trucks carrying hoses and other pieces of rescue equipment.

"You can't be in here, son. We don't know if the building is structurally..." The words, which were barely understandable through the noise in Frank's head, cut off as the person turned him around. Frank swayed with the movement. The man's mouth formed the words, "Christ, you're bleeding," and he moved his arm so it was now around both of Frank's shoulders. Again, the man's lips moved, this time each word was exaggerated. "Where were you hit?"

Frank stared at him, the roaring in his head getting louder. "I was… meeting someone." He could barely hear his own voice. The words didn't seem to want to leave his mouth. "My boss… Someone else… supposed to… Heard voices… Phone." He turned his head back to the doorway, pointing. "Chuck… I think..."

With his free hand, the firefighter yelled something Frank couldn't understand into the comm at his neck.

"I… think..." Frank blinked a few times. Everything around him was going dark. _How long __was I on the ground __before they got here__?_,he thought. _And h__ow long __until...__? _He could feel the man's arm tightening around his shoulders and knew deep down there was nothing the first responders would let him do, so – grudgingly – he gave in. Feeling as though his muscles had suddenly turned to water, Frank slumped sideways against the man's bulk and let the darkness take him.


	12. Evacuation

Thanks to Xenitha, max2013, Paaps (thanks, and I update as quickly as I can, which is never fast enough…), Caranath, hlahabibty, Jilsen

* * *

Coming back to consciousness was never as easy as it looked in the movies.

For starters, there was the pain. Before Frank even opened his eyes, he could feel the ache in his chest and the sting emanating from the back of his head. Then there was the confusion. For a few minutes, he didn't know where he was, or – more importantly – why he hurt so much, and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep so the pain would recede.

It wasn't meant to be.

He was aware of at least three times he was jolted out of sleep by a hand shaking him gently, but insistently, on the shoulder followed by a light that sent stabbing pains straight into his brain being shone in his eyes and a series of questions. And the questions were a problem.

Despite the pain and the headache, he held on to enough of his short-term memory to be cautious about the answers he gave. Since he didn't know how long he had been unconscious, or what information had been shared about his identity, he hedged each time someone asked him his name, saying he didn't feel comfortable sharing that information while turning his gaze to the police officer he could see stationed by the door. Then he would ask to talk to his father. _D__epending on who shows up, I'll know what __answer to give__, _he thought. Apparently, the nurses were satisfied enough with his responses to the other questions to leave this one be.

When he finally woke up on his own, there were shadows in the room, the sunlight outside just starting to fade. He rubbed his eyes a few times and was about to press the call button for some water, and hopefully some pain medication, when he saw the officer – a burly, middle-aged white guy who looked to have served in the military before joining the force – start in surprise. He propped himself up as best he could on the pillows and strained his ears to hear what was going on the hallway, easing himself back down and closing his eyes when he felt the room starting to spin around him.

"Frank?"

His eyes sprang back open. The light had been switched on, and he could see Agent Malone standing next to the bed, the business-like expression on her face at odds with the oversized, tie-dyed sweatshirt she wore. He squinted against the colors, too bright against the pastel hospital room walls. "Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."

"I'm sorry it took so long to get here." She shook her head and let out a shaky breath. "This wasn't at all what we were expecting." There was a tremor in her voice.

"No." He gestured to the officer outside the room with his hand. "They know who we are now?" There was a ringing in his ears that got louder each time he spoke. Without thinking, he shook his head to try to clear it and grimaced at the jolt of pain the motion caused.

"Agent Vickers is on-scene with the police right now." Malone's voice had switched back to professional law enforcement officer; the juxtaposition between her tone and her appearance made the corner of Frank's mouth quirk up in a half smile. "The doctors were concerned that you hadn't spoken much. Are you sure you're okay?"

Frank nodded, realizing this also wasn't a good idea when his stomach lurched. He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. "I'm… I'm fine. I just wasn't sure..." He left the last few words off the sentence and reopened his eyes. "You know."

She nodded. "Yeah. I had an interesting time getting your guard to believe me when I told him who I was." An odd half-smile crossed her face. "I guess your training worked." The smile faded, her professional mask falling back into place. "Frank, we need to know what happened. Right now you're our only witness. What do you remember?"

He described what he had seen at the site. "Might be details missing." He sighed. "It all happened so fast. I didn't know what was going on." He took a deep breath and turned his face away so she wouldn't see the tears welling in his eyes. "I couldn't do anything."

"Frank, you were injured in the blast." He heard her shift her weight from one foot to the other, the chains on her boots clinking softly near the floor. "The first responders were surprised you were conscious, never mind standing up."

Something the agent had said tugged at his mind, and he turned back toward her, his eyes filled with urgency. "Only witn… Chuck. I think he was in the store. Is he okay?"

Malone's lips tightened, her eyes darting away from his. "He's in surgery. The doctors are pretty sure he's going to make it."

There was something else in her face, something she knew but wasn't sharing. "But?"

"He lost his left arm."

Frank felt bile rising up into his throat, remembering the scrap of cloth on the floor of the shop. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed in through his nose until he could speak again. "Bob?"

"He didn't make it." Malone's eyes were flat. "He was too close to the explosion."

"Oh, G-d." Frank felt hollow. "This is going to sound weird, but I liked him. I know he was… ruthless with others, and what he was doing was… wrong, but he was funny. He liked me… I mean Zack." The room started tilting again.

"Frank?"

He opened his eyes, only just realizing he had closed them. "Sorry, what?"

Malone was looking at him, her eyes tight, the professional mask starting to crack. "Do you remember what you said to the responder who found you? Something about voices?"

Frank blinked at her a few times, trying to get his brain to pull up that memory. "Bob was talking to someone. He was definitely annoyed." He thought for a moment, then sank farther down into the pillow trying to organize the confused thoughts echoing in his head. "I couldn't hear who it was clearly enough." He turned his head back toward the wall, trying to pull information from his memory, then whipped his head toward her, realizing she knew who it was, grunting with the pain of the movement. "Who?"

The agent's expression hardened, making her look much older, then she bowed her head, her eyes filling. "It was Matt." The words were a whisper.

"What?" Suddenly, all the air had disappeared from the room. "Matt? Why…?"

Malone lifted a hand to her face, wiping her eyes. "I don't know. He and Randy had a fight. That's all I've got."

Slowly, she filled Frank in on what they knew so far; the bomb had been in the back of a transit van parked right by Quest Star's back door and had obliterated the back room. For some reason, only half of the explosives had detonated, so while the rest of the store had sustained serious damage, parts of it were still standing.

"We got lucky. If the whole thing had gone off, half the street would be gone," Malone said. "The bomb squad is going to go over what's left with a fine tooth comb, but it's going to be a while until they can examine it closely. They have to make sure it's not booby trapped and the structure is safe enough to dig around in." She sighed. "By the time they get to any real evidence, these guys are going to be long gone."

"No." Something flickered in Frank's mind. A memory of a scrap of paper. "I got a print," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"What?"

"A print. Off the materials… The client." His head drooped, exhaustion suddenly making everything hazy. "Coffee table." He looked at her, his eyes bleary and filled with pain. "Can't… promise."

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You rest. I'll find it and get it processed. This could be just what we need." She turned back toward him when she got to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Then she turned off the lights and was gone. Frank closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift back to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

By the time Kara was able to get to the Moscow Police Department, it was long after nightfall. The streetlights made the light-colored cement building look bright and alive as she approached, a stark contrast with the rest of the street. She dropped the evidence bag containing the fingerprint with the forensics people then went to the interview room and stood watching Randy alternate between telling off the two-way mirror and sullenly kicking the table leg.

The officer watching him rolled his eyes. "You'd think he'd get tired after a while."

Kara shrugged. "He doesn't know what's going on. He's scared."

"Hmmph." The man shrugged. "You want company in there?"

She shook her head. "He knows me. Whether or not he believes me will be another issue." She indicated the door with her chin. "Let me in."

When he saw her enter the room, Randy jumped to his feet. "Carrie? What the hell are you doing here?"

Kara straightened and pulled her badge from her back pocket, laying it on the table in front of him. "Agent Kara Malone. I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to ask you some questions about the job you were working on yesterday. The falsified passports."

Randy stared at her, his mouth open. "Jesus, Carrie, what the…?"

With a smooth motion, she reached back into the waistband of her jeans, pulled out her department issued Glock and pointed at his chest. "Not Carrie. And this will go a lot faster if you tell me what I need to know."

"You're going to shoot me?" Outrage deepened his voice.

Kara made sure the safety was still engaged and slid the gun back where it belonged. "No," she said, her voice calm. "Just making a point. The guys out there," she indicated the room on the other side of the mirror, "wouldn't have let me in with the gun if I wasn't who I said I was. Now I need you to tell me anything you can about the client who ordered the passports."

He stood looking at her for a long moment, then swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I need you to tell me why I'm here first." A pause. "_Then_ I talk. Until then..." He zipped a hand across his lips. "Nothing."

"It's for your protection." She leaned forward, her hands out, palms on the table. "We don't know who did this, or if they know you were involved. We need to keep you safe."

"Then you're out of luck. No clue what happened." Randy shook his head, some of the swagger coming back into his voice. He pointed to his chest with both hands. "I was in my room minding my own business when the cops dragged me out and brought me here." The shocked look on her face stopped him cold. "Wait, something really happened? I thought they were shitting me. No one said…" He swallowed again, then sank down into his chair, his eyes intent on her face. "Tell me. Please."

She kept to the facts, trying to keep her voice level and dispassionate, pausing and cursing internally when it cracked as she told him of Matt's death. When she finished, she looked down at him. He was shaking his head, his face white, tension lines on his forehead.

"No. You're lying to me." His hands were splayed on the tabletop, his fingers trying to dig in to the surface. "You lied to me before about who you were. You're lying now."

Kara's shoulders slumped, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "I wish I was." She pulled the out the chair and sat, perched on the edge of the seat. "But I'm not."

"He's really gone..." Randy's voice was a whisper. "I can't..." Tears leaked from his eyes as he stared into thin air. When he looked up, pain was carved into his face. "Why?"

"I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time." She sighed. "The bomber was expecting two people. He heard two voices. I don't think he considered they might not be the _right_ two people."

Randy's face grew cold. "So it should have been Zack, not my cousin. If that's even his real name. He's one of you, isn't he?" The words came out in a snarl.

"He is." Kara regarded him with clear eyes. "We're lucky the guy didn't know you had been called in to help with the second order." She paused a moment to let the words sink in. "Or you might have been there, too. Then we'd have no one who could help us get him."

"Oh, my G-d." Randy wheezed as if he had just been punched in the stomach. "I think… I'm gonna..."

The door burst open, and the officer hauled Randy to his feet, almost dragging him to the nearest bathroom. When they returned a few minutes later, the officer plunked sodas down on the table, then left, closing the door behind him.

Randy sat down and grabbed one of the sodas, holding it against his right cheek. Kara grabbed the other and popped it open.

"So, what can you tell me, Randy? I'm willing to offer you immunity from prosecution for the fake ID ring if you can help us get this guy." She took a long drink.

He shook his head, some of the soda sloshing onto his face. "Nothing." His eyes took on a pleading look. "Not because I don't want to help. Because I don't _know_ anything." He lowered the can to the table. "I'm sure Zack told you this already, but Bob wouldn't let us ask any questions. He was the only one who knew the details."

"Crap," Kara whispered. "I was hoping…"

There was a brief knock, then the door opened. "Agent Malone?"

Kara turned toward the voice. The officer at the door was a young woman, probably about her own age, but with darker hair. _And looking more like a grown-up_, she thought, lifting a hand to the dyed tips of her hair. "Yes?"

The woman grinned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we got a hit."

"What?" Kara stood so fast, the chair tipped over. Through the corner of her eye, she could see Randy on his feet as well.

The officer handed over a few sheets of paper. "The print you fave us. It pulled _this_ up from the database.

Kara turned the papers over. A photo showed a blond man in his early twenties with longish hair, bright blue eyes and a sullen expression. The rap sheet listed crimes ranging from assault and battery to vandalism as well as hate crimes against various ethnic and religious groups.

"That's him," Randy breathed from over her shoulder. "He's older now, but that's the guy from the passport pictures."

"Did one of them use this name?" She pointed to the name listed at the top of the sheet. He shook his head. "Do you know what names were on the passports?" It was hard to keep the impatience out of her voice.

"The two we did." He paused. "And two of the others. Zack kept making cracks that he," he nodded at the photo, "didn't look like a Neil or a Gary. More like a Bubba."

"Give Officer..." Kara looked at the woman's badge. "Office Barnes what you can remember. I'm going to head back to the hospital to see if..." She cleared her throat. "… if Zack can remember the others." She turned to Barnes. "Get an APB out on him as soon as possible under all the names you've got. Someone from my group will contact you when we've got more information."

Barnes gave her a grim smile. "Already done. Contact us as soon as you've got the rest. We'll get this bastard."

Kara nodded her head once and ran from the room.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Matt's funeral took place two weeks later.

Law enforcement officers had captured the suspect without a struggle outside the Umatilla National Forest where he had run out of gas on the back roads of Ritter, Oregon trying to avoid the more heavily patrolled highways and main roads. The man, whose real name Frank found out was Matthew Jenkins – an irony that had made Frank shake his head in disbelief, had been extradited back to Idaho and charged with two counts of murder. Vickers was working with a cadre of other agents, sifting through the evidence and questioning Jenkins to see if they could find out who else was involved with the bombing and the passport scheme. Once Frank had been thoroughly debriefed, he was told he was no longer needed in Moscow and could head home.

"You did good work, son," Vickers told him, the accompanying clap on the shoulder making Frank's ribs ache. "If you're interested in joining up..."

Frank shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but no. I think I prefer to remain independent."

"Like father, like son," Vickers said. "Would you at least be interested in contracting with us again?" At Frank's surprised nod of assent, the agent smiled. "Good. Tell you father I said hello." Then he turned back to the pile of papers that sat in front of him.

The day of the service was cloudy and cool, typical for early December in Idaho. While nominally limited to family, Frank could see both a contingent of the Vandals basketball team standing vigil at the far end of the cemetery holding a banner with Matt's jersey number on it and a handful of the regular gamers from the comic book store grouped near by them, Chuck easily identifiable among them by the empty coat sleeve pinned up to his shoulder. Frank stayed hidden as best he could behind a tree, not wanting to be seen, but needing to be there.

Once the mourners dispersed, he walked over to the grave, a single white carnation wrapped with a silver and gold ribbon in his hand. He dropped the flower onto the casket and stood for a long moment, head bowed in prayer. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish..." He shook his head, let out a long breath, and turned to go.

"Hey!"

The voice took him by surprise. He had thought he was the only one still at the cemetery aside from the workers. As the figure came closer, Frank recognized Randy. His hair was combed to one side and he wore a suit that was at least one size too big for him.

"Who are…?" Randy's voice faltered, recognizing Frank even with his hair cut to its normal length and wearing clothes that weren't stained, ripped, or plaid. The boy's eyes hardened. "What are you doing here?"

Frank looked at him for a moment before answering. It didn't look like Randy had been sleeping well. Or at all. With a twist in his gut, he wondered if maybe Matt and Randy had been as close at one time as he and Joe still were and had to close his eyes against the thought of something like this happening to his brother.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

Frank cleared his throat. "I'm just here to pay my respects," he said, his voice soft.

Randy's eyes widened, and Frank knew he was cataloging the differences between Zack and the person now standing in front of him. "You're… you're..."

"My name is Frank Hardy. Agent Malone needed someone with computer skills." He shrugged. "Look, I'm really sorry about..." He stopped trying to think of something to say. "About everything," he finally finished. He looked Randy straight in the face. "You do some good work. Maybe the agents can find a way for you to use it to catch guys like Jenkins." He held his right hand out, unsure of what reaction he would get, and pleased when Randy took it. "Good luck."

As he walked toward the car he had rented to drive to the airport, he pulled out his cell phone and punched at a few keys, waiting to see if anyone on the other end would pick up.

It only rang twice.

"Hello?" His mother's voice sounded in his ear.

He could have cried.

"Is anyone there?" There was an edge of annoyance in the words. "I'm hanging up..."

"Mom, it's me."

"Frank! Gertrude, it's Frank!" The annoyance was replaced with joy overlaid by worry. "Sweetheart, are you all right? It's been months!"

"I know," he said, "and I'm sorry. Things got… complicated."

There was a long pause. "Can you tell me about it?"

Frank shook his head. "No. But I'm coming home."

"Does Joe know?"

"I'll call him once I'm home." Frank's throat caught. "I need some time to decompress. I'll see you in a few days."

"All right, dear." His mother's tone told him she knew he _wasn't _all right but also wasn't going to push him for information. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom. I'll see you in a few days. Bye."

He ended the call, put the phone in his jacket pocket, and got in the car. When he drove away, he didn't look back.


	13. Nightcap

Thanks to Caranath, Xenitha, Max2013, and Snowprincess88 for the reviews. And here's the last chapter!

The silence in the room was smothering. Both Joe and Anna sat, eyes wide, shocked expressions on their faces.

Frank put down his now-cold mug of coffee, his fingers tight and tense from the strength of the grip he had been using to hold it. "So. That's what happened in Moscow." It was obvious he was working at making his tone match the lightness of the words.

"A bomb." Joe 's voice was low, his hands curling into fists. "There was a bomb. And you're still alive because you overslept? Here I've spent all these years thinking you were sick over Christmas, and that's why you seemed off. But no, you just couldn't be bothered to tell me what had happened." The anger in his words slashed through the silence like a knife. "Jesus, Frank, what? Did you think I couldn't handle it? Did you not trust me? Did your handlers tell you to keep me in the dark?" He stood, arms flung wide, plate and silverware clattering to the floor.

As he opened his mouth to continue, Kara reached up, twisted one of his arms behind his back, and dragged him into the kitchen.

"What the hell, Hardy?" She shoved him into the sink, sending suds flying. "Your brother just told you about a traumatic experience he lived through – _we _lived through – and _this_ is your reaction? He could have been the one who got blown up. Did that not occur to you? Or are you too busy sulking over dish duty and the fact that your brother has a life that doesn't always include you to realize that?" Her eyes blazed. "And _handlers_? You realize that's _me_ you're talking about, right?"

Heart pounding, Joe opened his mouth to shout back at her, then clamped it shut, suddenly deflating. He sagged back against the counter and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Not the one you should be apologizing to." Kara's voice was an icicle. "Unless you're referring to the handlers comment."

He nodded, his face still in his hands.

Kara sighed. Even for Joe this was a quick turnaround, his anger usually dimming to a slow burn before dissipating completely. _Something else is going on here_, she thought, then reached up and gently pulled his hands down. She was surprised to tears standing in his eyes. "What is it?"

"He could have died." Pain replaced the anger in his voice. "Frank could have died, and I wouldn't have known." He looked at Kara, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I get the work he does with you is important, both to him and – I don't know – to the country, probably. But every time he leaves, I don't know if he's going to come back. This makes the second time he almost didn't. _That I'm aware of._" He sniffed and swallowed. "And you were there, too, so now I have to worry about both of you. Losing Frank would be bad enough, but losing _you_." His voice was a raspy whisper. "I don't think I could live through that again."

She cupped his face with her hands, understanding dawning. "Joe, I'm sorry. I didn't think… You know if I could, I'd promise you I'll always come home, right? But I can't. What I can promise is to do my best to always come home to you." She gave him a crooked smile. "Just so you know, I expect the same from you. Deal?"

He pulled her close, squeezing her to his chest, and kissed the top of her head. "Deal."

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Kara could feeling his muscles slowly relax, the tension drain from his body.

"Are you okay?" she asked, slowly disengaging from his embrace.

He shrugged, his face haunted. "I will be. It just hit me funny. It was a lot to take in."

Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "I know. I was there, and it was a lot to take in then."

"Yeah, um..." His expression relaxed, a faint blush covering his cheeks. "Look, I'm sorry for the handlers thing. Sometimes, uh… sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain."

"You don't say?" Her eyes sparkled at him, making his heart skip a beat, and he knew she had forgiven him.

"Every now and then." He leaned down to kiss her properly, then stopped himself. "I should probably go back in there and apologize. Shouldn't I?"

She nodded at him and moved out of his way.

He took a deep breath, walked over to the swinging door, and pushed it open. "Crap."

The living room was empty.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Anna's voice was soft in Frank's ear.

They stood in her doorway, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him, he light citrus scent of her body lotion filling his nostrils. "I'm sure. You have an early day tomorrow, and I don't want to be in your way."

She let out a breath then pushed away from him. "Meaning you want to go home and brood on your own."

Frank gave her a half-smile. "That could be another way of translating that, yes."

"You're worried about Joe, aren't you?" She leaned against the door frame, her dark hair falling partway over her face.

"About him being angry? No." Frank shook his head, one hand reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. "He gets over that pretty quickly."

"Then what?" She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers in his.

"I don't know. Survivor's guilt? I had gotten far enough removed that I could cope with what happened. Then with the whole memory issue, and Kara bringing it up tonight… It just keeps coming back." He shrugged. "I'm not being very articulate. I'm sorry."

She pulled his head down so their foreheads touched. "It's like you're right back at square one. Like you're starting over again." She saw his eyes shut, felt the slight shudder as his shoulders tightened. "I get that." She squeezed his hand and could feel his muscles start to relax as he leaned against her. "You go do whatever you need to get your equilibrium back. I'll be here." She raised her head and brushed her lips against his forehead.

He had to keep his eyes closed, squeezing them hard for a few seconds before opening them. "How did I get so lucky as to find you?"

Anna shook her head. "No. I'm the one who's lucky. Call me in the morning so I can hear your voice. I want to make sure you're okay."

He hugged her one more time, then watched as the door closed behind her. Once he heard the locks slide into place, he rubbed a hand across his eyes, took a deep breath, and evened out his expression. Then he turned and walked away.

Before he had even gotten out of the building, his phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and turned on the screen. One new message. From Anna.

He accessed the message folder and opened it.

"I love you."

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk among the throngs of people and stared at the screen for a moment before dialing a number. "Luis? Frank Hardy. Do you have any daisies in stock right now?… Great. Can you send a bouquet to Ms. Goldstein's building?… Mixed with freesia? That would be lovely." He cleared the huskiness from his throat. "No, nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Tomorrow morning... Yes. Thank you."

He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Frank knew something was off as soon as he put his key in the door. A faint light shimmered as the door opened, and he stilled, his brain working out possible plans of attack as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, his finger hovering over the emergency button.

"Geez, 'bro, just open the stupid door already. Will you?"

Joe's voice.

Frank's shoulders relaxed, then tensed again as he entered the apartment. His brother sat on the sofa, an open bottle of beer in his hand, the remainder of a six-pack on the coffee table resting on a bowl filled with ice.

"Where have you been?" Joe took a swig from the bottle. "I've been nursing this thing," he looked over at the clock on the wall, "for almost an hour." He took another sip. "And I have to tell you, warm beer is disgusting."

"I brought Anna home." Frank locked the door, then turned back to his brother. "Why are you here?"

"What did you do, walk back from her place?" He watched his brother nod, then gestured for him to sit. "Take one of these. I can't drink them all myself. Well, I can, but it would be a bad idea."

"_Joe._" Frank was still standing. "Why are you here?"

There was a long silence, then Joe let out a breath. "To talk." He lifted the bottle to his mouth, tipped it up, then placed it empty on the table, his eyes on the bottles of beer. "And to apologize."

"To apologize." Frank pulled a bottle from the bowl, opened it, and handed it to his brother before grabbing one for himself and sitting in the chair across the room. "For what?"

Joe stared at him. "Um, I'm pretty sure I yelled at you after dinner. You were there for that part, right?"

"You yell at me a lot, little brother. If you broke into my apartment every time that happened, you'd be living here." Frank took a sip from his bottle. "And neither I nor Kara want that."

"I didn't break in." He shrugged as Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "I may have _borrowed_ one of your spare keys the last time I was here, and... Wait. You're changing the subject." A hint of a frown appeared on his face. "Just let me get this out. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I was just… surprised at your story." With one finger he spun the bottle cap in circles on the table's surface. He let out another long breath. "I get it." His voice was so low Frank had to lean forward to hear him. "I get why you didn't tell me. You didn't want to remind me of..."

Frank's voice cut across his words. "That wasn't why."

Joe's head snapped up. "What?"

"It wasn't for you," Frank said. "It was for me."

For a long moment, Joe just stared at his brother, disbelief blossoming on his face. "Frank, that doesn't make any sense." He picked up the bottle cap and started rolling it between his fingers.

"I don't know if I can _make_ it make sense." Frank raised the bottle to his lips, drank, and swallowed without tasting the liquid.

Joe snorted. "Most of what you say doesn't make sense to me, so don't worry about it. Use small words. That might help." The cap flashed in the lamplight. "_Please_."

Frank's gaze grew distant, his expression blanking out to what Joe called his 'processing look'. _W__ell, at least he's considering it,_ he thought.

"Collateral damage." Frank's eyes stared into nothingness. "That's what they were to him."

Joe held his breath, waiting for his brother to continue, to elaborate on his words.

"I'm used to people wanting to kill me," Frank said, suddenly focusing on his brother's face, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Us." The spark faded. "But this was different. Jenkins didn't care who he killed. Wanting to blow up the guys who made the IDs makes sense, in a perverted, criminal kind of way."

"Covering his tracks." Joe nodded. "No witnesses."

"But the amount of explosives he had in that truck..." Franks' voice trailed off, his eyes losing focus again. "I can't even begin to imagine how many..." He shook his head and let out a shaky breath. "Up until that moment, all the cases you and I worked had a personal aspect – someone stole something, embezzled from a business, wanted revenge. This was nothing like those. And I knew..." His voice faltered.

"Knew what?" Joe prompted after a few seconds had passed, his left foot starting to bounce, his heel tapping the floor.

"Knew I couldn't let what happened to Matt – to Chuck – happen to other people. Not when I could do something about it." Frank kept his eyes trained on the label of the bottle he held in his hands. "What happened… I couldn't stop thinking about it. The nightmares…" He stopped speaking and cleared his throat. "I knew what I had to do. So, after you went back to school, I went down to DC and talked to Agent Vickers about joining the Bureau."

Joe stilled, the bottle cap falling to the floor.

"That's why I didn't tell you. Because I would have had to tell you I had planned to leave, to destroy the dream we'd had since we were kids." Frank's voice was a whisper. "And I was too much of a coward to do that." He cleared his throat. "By the time you graduated, it became clear I was going to work out better as a contractor then as an agent, so it didn't make sense to tell you. So I kept it to myself."

"You. A coward." Joe's voice was flat. "Really?" He shook his head, his shoulders shaking for a moment before laughter exploded from his mouth.

Frank sat, his mouth open, staring at his brother's struggle to get control of himself.

Taking large gulps of air, Joe finally managed to calm himself down enough to talk. "Geez, 'bro, I don't understand how someone as intelligent as you are can have such a lousy self-image. You need therapy or something." He cocked his head to one side, considering. "Although I'm pretty sure you'd give any therapist you went to nightmares. And probably have." A few giggles escaped.

"You're not mad." Frank's eyes narrowed.

"Frank, it was five years ago." Joe scooped up his bottle from the coffee table and took a long drink. "But now that you mention it, I always wondered why you stayed a contractor instead of joining up. I kind of figured the whole dark sunglasses and chain of command thing was right up your alley."

"Why didn't you just ask me?" Frank lifted his bottle to his lips, noticed his hand was shaking, and lowered it again.

"I'm sorry. Ask you? The man who says he's fine whenever anyone asks how he is? Even if he's bruised and bleeding? The guy who didn't even tell his own brother when he and his girlfriend started dating?" Joe said, flushing as something occurred to him for the first time.

Frank eyed his younger brother, suspicion in his eyes. "What is it? Why are you turning red?"

"Nothing. It's just… You haven't taken a contract since Kara and I started dating." He leaned down and picked the bottle cap up off the floor.

"No," Frank corrected, "I haven't been _offered_ one. They haven't needed me."

"Oh," Joe could feel his cheeks burn hotter under his brother's gaze. "I just thought..." He closed his eyes.

"I had feelings for Kara? And I had taken myself out of the way?"

The words only made Joe blush more. He threw up his hands in surrender. "What? Now you can read my mind?" This time Frank laughed, the sound making Joe really relax for the first time all evening. He cracked his eyes open in time to see his brother place his beer carefully on the table before almost doubling over. _Neat freak__._

Frank sighed and wiped at his eyes. "Joe, we went on one date. Which, as I recall, you crashed. It just didn't feel right." He picked the beer back up and drank some more. "You two fit."

The blush, which had started fading, now came back with full force. "Yeah. We do." Joe cleared his throat. "And how are you and Anna doing?"

"Fine." Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "And that's all I'm telling you."

Joe nodded. "Okay. So, we're good?"

"We're good."

"In that case," Joe put his empty bottle down carefully next to the bowl, "I should head home. Long day tomorrow."

Frank's lips quirked into a smile. "And you still have the rest of those dishes to finish."

Joe covered his face with his hands. "Here we were having a great brotherly moment, and you had to ruin it by mentioning the dishes. Thanks so much."

"It's my job, little brother. It's my job." He steered Joe to the door and gently pushed him out. "Tell Kara I said thanks for dinner. And Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll see you in the office on Monday." Frank shut the door and let out a deep breath. Then he pulled the cell phone from his back pocket, and entered Anna's number, listening to the warmth in her voice as the call went to voice mail. "Hey," he said. "Joe just left. We're good. I just wanted to you to know." He paused for a moment. "I love you, too."


End file.
